Aki

“H-Hey, Satoru! Wait-wait a sec!” The words spilled from your lips in an unintentional desperate plea, the halls fully swarmed and packed with students squeezing past one another. Dozens of conversations mulled around you, voices mindlessly buzzing and bouncing off the walls as you paced towards the white haired man.

Satoru had been anything but clear as of recently, a new push pull dynamic he’d adopted that had you more confused and thrown off than ever. You thought you were going crazy.

One night he was taking you out, looking at you like you were his dream girl who hung the moon in his sky, and the next he was treating you like some clingy puppy that he had never even asked for in the first place. The hot and coldness of it all had given you whiplash trying to keep up with him.

But of course, of couuurrrse, you believed him when he said it was stress. That finals and exams had him so busy, but of course he liked you! He was just new at this whole communication thing and needed time but please Y/N, I like you so much please im trying.

You believed it all.

After all, why would you not? Especially when Satoru was Satoru and you were you.

Sure, you knew you could be a lot, knew you could have more than afforded to shut up every now and then and not chimed in with your over the top unnecessary eager commentary, but regardless, the point still stood. Satrou Gojo, one of the hottest most pined after frat boys on campus that everyone treated like a myth, like an untouchable legend, talked to you, was nice to you, even took you out and seemed happy to do so.

Maybe for once, the rumors could have been just rumors!

Plus, the last few times you remembered being taken out was high school, and they never showed you much interest past the first date once they learned they couldn't get in your pants. Gojo hadn't even tried!

“Sorry-excuse me,’cuse me, sorr- oops, my bad, imsosorry- Satoru!”

He'd been oddly silent the past few days, completely unresponsive to your texts. But with finals coming up, surely he must've been cramming and just far too busy to respond.

He hadn't sat next to you like usual in lecture, but he showed up late, so maybe he didn't want to bother you?

But he didn't wait for you after either, gone before you could even leave your seat. You couldn't deny how it stung, but always chalked it up to him being too busy or in a rush.

You could visibly see his shoulders tense from behind, the slight tilt of his head as it hung forward in what you could only assume was annoyance, a brief mental preparation to deal with you. A pang bloomed in your chest, unease pulsing through you.

He slowed down just enough for you to catch up, but didn't stop. Slightly out of breath, you fell into step next to him, cheeks flushing and heat creeping up your neck from his clear uneagerness to see or talk to you. You nervously swallowed. He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

He didn't greet you, didn't look at you, just waited for you to speak.

You awkwardly cleared your throat to speak, a small and meek “hi,” being the only word to squeeze out.

“I’ve got class.” Short, quick, dismissive.

His blunt uninterested response sent doubt pummeling through you, the gifts in your pocket weighing heavier and heavier with the possibility of rejection more realistic than you initially thought.

He would draw you in, perfect words to butter you up and make you feel foolish for ever questioning him, and then he'd get like this. Not mean per se, but just so uninterested in you that you wondered if you had made it all up. You weren't dating (yet? So you were hoping) but he had kissed you on the most recent date. Didn't that mean something?

You'd been so ecstatic afterwards, but with no solid friends on campus, you had no one to tell or squeal to. You carried everything alone, both good and bad. Gojo knew that, the whole frat knew that. It's what made you the perfect choice.

“R-right, yeah! Um- can you stop just for a second- i wanted to-” and he loudly sighed, piercing blue eyes rolling into his head as he stopped to turn to you. He didn't say anything, just stared expectantly at you like you were completely wasting his time. His gaze on you was irritated.

The eye contact had you jittery. Not the usual nerves you'd get when you turned your head just to find him already looking at you, so anxious you’d somehow mess things up with the hottest guy ever, so desperate to be good enough for him. No. It was the on edge, antsy type that had you replaying every dumb thing you've ever said to him, the doubt pooling at the very bottom of your stomach that felt like a heavy black tar. It felt like a test you knew you’d fail when you had studied so hard to do good. You just wanted him to like you the way you liked him, and god, did you fucking like him.

Don't fuck this up, y/n, this is the best thing that has ever happened to you.

Nervously swallowing and cheeks blazing, you gave an uneasy awkward smile before rummaging through your tote bag and pocket, muttering a tiny but sincere “sorry,” when his foot started to impatiently tap against the floor.

A small pit formed in your stomach, feeling slightly mortified and very embarrassed. The feeling was similar to a child showing off their very mediocre work to an overly critical parent.

“Sorry,” you huffed a fake laugh, pulling out the small container from your bag and the keychain from your pocket.

“I-um, I made these for you, since you know, you said you loved cookies, uh on the date, they're um your favorite..” and your words trailed off as you held out the tin, slowly beginning to feel smaller and smaller as he kept his hands by his side, no show of trying to take it from you. A small sticky note on the top read, “Hope you like them! :D <3”

“Oh! A-and, hah, I saw this and, and I thought of you, especially since you said you really, um, really liked that show.” nothing. “J-Just as a um, thank you, for the other night. W-Was a lot, o-of fun.”

You held both hands out, praying he didn't see the slight tremble of your clammy hands holding the items as you stood there feeling like an idiot. The thumping of your heart picked up, eyes looking anywhere but at him, bowing your head just slightly so you wouldn't have to see him look so repulsed by you.

Had you somehow misread everything? Like actually? This entire interaction felt like some humiliation ritual.

“Um, if, if you want, o-of course, no.. no pressure,” You pathetically added, already trying to lessen his blow, already trying to minimize and justify his cold reaction towards you.

He let out a small snicker, hands finally coming up to grab the items from your unsteady hands. You hid the sigh of relief that you wanted to let out, so easy to please and already feeling happy again that he accepted your gifts, as if it was a nuisance for him to do so.

“Wow, thanks. You do too much,” he dully noted, a small closed lip smile gracing his pretty features before he turned on his feet to continue his trek to class.

The comment made you freeze, staring at the spot he stood in, a “thank you?” not even having the chance to leave your tongue. You didn't think he said it with mal intent, but the words ‘too much’ always seemed to find its way back to you.

“Oh wait!” Gojo's voice broke you from your thoughts, and you immediately turned to face him, eyes wide and excited like a dog hearing the word ‘walk.’ Maybe he'd talk to you some more, or want you to walk with him! Or maybe-

“Party this Friday night at the house. You should come by, all my friends will be there.” The words made you deflate. A party… at his frat house… the idea made your stomach twist with nerves. You knew no one, had no friends to go with, and you were absolutely horrified of embarrassing yourself around him- even more- than what you felt like you had already done.

“Oh! Um, haha, I don't think your friends like me- um- very much, haha,” you stated, hand coming up to push your fallen hair behind your ear, a small wince on your face as to not make it a big deal.

His friends, and Gojo at first too, had been relatively mean to you starting off, relentless teasing about your looks, your interests, hobbies, lack of knowledge you had despite trying so hard. You had been so caught off guard when he told you he liked you.

“Psh, they're just playing! See you at 10pm,” he yelled back, already walking away, arm coming up to carelessly wave. You sighed to yourself. You knew you would go. You really wanted to see gojo.

Friday night was a mess. A good mess at first, at least. Cars parked up and down the street, people packed in like sardines in and outside the house, music so loud all the neighboring dorms and frats could hear, and god did it reek like sweat and musk.

The two shots - okay maybe three - you took right before for liquid courage seemed to do the exact opposite as you maneuvered around a couple making out, small “excuse me’s” falling from your lips every second in a measly attempt to find gojo.

The small revealing outfit you had on, at least, seemed to match the vibe, relieved when you saw girls wearing far less. The only con was that your favorite knee high boots would most definitely get stepped on, but at least you were taller now as you searched for the stark white tufts of hair.

The house thrummed from the vibration of the speakers, bass so heavy your teeth rattled. It was dark, the only light illuminating the rooms were colorful shades of blues, purples, reds, and greens shining and flashing everywhere. The party felt like everything you weren't, but for a split second you were almost proud of yourself, going so far out of your comfort zone it felt like you were on a whole other planet. You imagined how fun these parties could be if you had any friends, and before you could let the thought get you down, you let your tipsy self imagine what it would be like to experience these with gojo by your side, excited that you were about to.

Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was packed. Unable to find Gojo had you seeking out another drink and the multitude of bottles of liquor that covered the surfaces were calling your name. You felt confident, wanting another drink to keep your courage and vibes up, grabbing a red solo cup and creating a concoction that would be far too strong, but you were here to let loose right? You were at a party!

Further encouraged and emboldened when a girl passing by stopped to compliment you, you smiled to yourself, feeling the tension roll off your back and a new found self-assurance bloom within you.

Bodies flowed and worked around you, not shoving into you or looking at you like you didn't belong, but moved in rhythm near you, like you had every right to be there and fit just fine. You relaxed into the music, earlier shots of vodka giving you a nice buzz that warmed your skin, made your cheeks tingle, and more importantly a soft happiness that weighed in your chest that comforted you like a safety blanket. Pouring the liquor into the cup with a mixer that admittedly was way too little, you knocked over a different cup, relieved there was barely any liquid that spilled over.

Quietly giggling to yourself, you spun to grab a roll of paper towels, quickly drying up the small mess you made, already sipping on your drink that made you wince in disgust. It was perfect. You hummed along to the music, hips swaying while lights blinded you, walking over to the metal garbage can to toss the wet material. Looking inside, you couldn't help but notice the tupperware that looked exactly like yours.

Furrowing your eyebrows, you leaned in a little closer, tiny fractures cutting into your heart as you realized it was yours, still packed to the brim with your cookies, sticky note still stuck to the top. Next to the cookies, the keychain you had bought him.

You froze, just a moment before scooting back, not wanting to get caught staring into the trashcan as you processed everything. There was a dull ache in your chest, energy immediately depleting and inklings of shame and embarrassment circulating through you. Your mind worked through the different possibilities, seeking out any excuse or reason as to why your items now lay forgotten in the trash.

You felt the build up of tears, blinking them back with a shaky breath as you chugged your mixture that was mainly liquor, a hopeless attempt at suppressing the sadness you felt. You shivered, turning your head to gag at the disgusting taste. Surely all the alcohol would calm your nerves.

Maybe one of the guys had done it? And not Gojo? You were positive this was all some sort of misunderstanding, no way he would just do that right? He told you he liked you- it wouldn't make any sense.

You began your trek around the sea of people, legs a little more unsteady now, eyes slightly glassy, contents of your stomach filled with a majority of alcohol and barely any food from your earlier nerves. All you wanted to do was find him, figure out an explanation that you were positive you'd be more than willing to accept, and spend the rest of the night by his side having a good time. The cookies weren't hard to bake and it's not like the keychain cost that much- it was fine, you were fine.

A little more intense this time, you made your way through the frat house, a sigh of relief when a glimpse of that notorious white fluffy hair came into view, a black backwards baseball cap sitting perfectly on his head. When your eyes finally landed on gojo, albeit still a little wobbly and throat tight, you couldn't help the smile that automatically formed on your face, hoping he'd feel the same. Why wouldn't he? He did invite you after all.

He was surrounded by his friends and then some, everyone dialed in on what he was saying. You anxiously stepped forward, waiting for the right time to get close to him and say hello. You wondered if he'd hug you and say ‘hi baby,’ like he sometimes did. The thought made your heart flutter inside its ribs like a bird in a cage.

Maybe he'd even compliment your outfit, or your hair and makeup. You eagerly bit your lip, too excited to be embarrassed at your spiraling thoughts of being somewhat wanted by him.

“Bro and then she gave me a fuck ass keychain, dude!!” he broke up his commentary with a laugh, a little too forced for it to be genuine, but a laugh nonetheless. “Said it reminded her of me, like, she just can't get any weirder bro. God and don't get me started on the cookies. She said it was her thanks for taking her out, but she doesnt know its all a bet to get into her pants- shes a fucking virgin for sureeee, threw that shit out as soon as i got back,” and he snickered and grinned like he had won the best prize. Like he had formed the best, most elaborate plan and you had played your part perfectly. You really, really had.

His friends, who you recognized as toji and maybe sukuna, chuckled, all chiming in with terms of agreement and encouragement, adding on all sorts of lies and theories about you, like maybe you were secretly a whore putting out, your innocent act a devious little facade. Geto, who had always been kind to you, was there too, perched against the side of a couch, not joining in, but silent and accepting.

You flinched, physically recoiling back when you heard them laugh about how you were too much, too pathetic to see right through anything at all, a fucking stupid girl for thinking someone like you could have a chance at him. Everything you had told yourself, every insecurity that had coursed through you, all confirmed. Others really did view you the way you saw yourself.

“Bro and when I kissed her, swear i almost gagged-”

You drowned his voice out, the music. There was a ringing in your ears that wasn't there before. Frozen in your spot, fingers beginning to shake, throat burning so badly you weren't sure if the alcohol you had downed was about to make a surprise appearance or not.

The bodies around you blurred as the pit in your stomach grew, humiliation washing over you as if you’d just been doused with a bucket full of ice water. You didn't run, couldn't, feet glued to the floor as you were forced to listen to the group of the hottest guys on campus who didn't even know you as a person, didn't take the time to learn you, ridicule you and make fun of you. You guessed it didn't matter, because Gojo had.

Each breath was labored and jagged, chest tightening and skin prickling with such an intense heat that you felt constricted in the already sparse clothes you wore. The way the fabric dug into you, a certain stitch that scratched you, the zipper that rubbed against your skin - it felt like you were suddenly aware of every unpleasant feeling in addition to the shattering of your heart.

You wanted to go home, wanted the floor to swallow you whole- felt so unbelievably silly standing there watching the guy you liked- fuck, the guy you had fallen in love with- paint you out to be some weird nasty creature who was undeserving of his attention. Sure, you had felt that way initially, but he had been so kind to you that you had been so blindsided, unknowingly setting yourself up to fall right back into your constant cycle of heartbreak and misery.

Built up tears finally broke the surface, some beginning to stream down your face and others just dropping from the sheer amount that had welled up. It wasn't until gojo turned his head, eyes landing directly on you and smile completely dropping that your legs became unstuck.

Your breath hitched, crackling sob breaking through as your saliva grew sticky. The extra drinks sure to make you vomit after this. You spun so fast you lost balance for a split second on your heels, immediately righting yourself and pushing through the sweaty bodies blocking you in. You didn't say sorry or excuse me, just pummeled through, desperate to get outside so that maybe you could finally breathe. You felt like a pig in makeup, and the thought made you cry harder. So beyond embarrassed, having dressed up and done your hair and makeup, mortified that everyone else thought you looked just as ugly and silly. You had to get out of here, the air was too thick and stuffy as the walls closed in on you.

Your name fell on deaf ears, sprinting out the front door and down the porch steps, surroundings a blur from not only how fast you were moving, but the alcohol that coursed through you. You knew the gifts were stupid, sure, but everything else? The kiss? He wanted to gag? All the times he called you pretty, beautiful, yes, it was more than plausible that it was a lie, but why did he say it all then? That's right, because you were supposedly just a fucking bet.

Who would willingly want to be with you?

Gojo called your name again, louder. You weren't the only one sick to your stomach. He cursed, heart dropping to his ass as the overwhelming suffocating feeling of guilt bloomed inside of his chest, heart quite literally constricting at how shitty, how fucking disgusting, he felt. It spread throughout him and he would've thought it was dramatic if it didn't feel like he could currently drop to his knees and heave. The entire situation was beyond fucked up, everything a misunderstanding and completely not at the same time.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” he repeated, hoarse and panicked as he immediately trailed after you, abruptly leaving the conversation mid sentence, not caring how he looked when all the guys stared at him in confusion. He lost sight of you for a moment but knew you'd only try to leave, escape the perfect hell he had just created for you.

Why the fuck did he do this? How the fuck was he gonna make this up to you, and why had he let himself get involved in this shitty idea anyway? He knew he should've called it off, he knew he had fallen for you.

Muttering insults as hands came out to grab at him, others trying to talk and some pulling him in for a dance. He didn't look, didn't care who they were, practically throwing and shoving their hands off him with only you in mind. He would explain everything to you, lay himself bare and expose the ugliness and insecurities that festered inside of him.

He had been projecting this entire time, exhausted from maintaining such an ugly facade of the frat fuckboy, desperately trying to fit in with everyone else that he stupidly agreed to the bet just to feel some type of belonging and companionship. All at the expense of you.

He didn't think, that was his issue. So caught up in this fake lifestyle that he knew the act wasn't just pretend anymore, his morals slipping by the day as he settled into this new once foreign character. They were all fucking assholes. All of them.

Fingers tightly clenching your almost dead phone, you bawled, frustration making you grit your teeth in additional annoyance when the sidewalk wouldn't stay straight. Accidentally stepping off the concrete, your heel caught on the edge, sending you falling onto all fours on the pavement, too drunk to care about the pain that shot up your wrists and knees. You let out a guttural infuriated noise, a mix between a squeal and growl, feeling so much more than just pissed and heartbroken. You furiously smashed your palm against the concrete as if it held the blame.

“Fuck, hey, shit, are you okay??”

Gojo's palm rested on your back and in the blink of an eye you stumbled up, whipping around to face him seething and disgusted as tears continued to stream down your cheeks.

“Don't fucking touch me,” you spat backing away from him as if he had physically struck you, and at this point you thought you would’ve almost preferred that over the gut wrenching feeling in your chest. There was a physical pain that tore throughout you, your heart feeling like sharp talons had ripped it out and stomped on it like an attempt at snuffing out a flame.

If you had it in you, you would’ve laughed at his expression, so devastated and hurt and torn as if he wasn't the one who caused all this, as if he wasn't the one who could've prevented everything. He had the audacity to stare at you like he was scared of losing you.

“Please, please y/n, i can explain, I am so sorry, please,” and it was as equally pathetic as it was infuriating. gojo pathetically begged, arms awkwardly reaching towards you as if you were the solution.

You paused, tongue loose and words slurred, staring at him bewildered as you threw your palms up. He wasn't who you thought he was. Or maybe he was exactly who everybody said he was and it was your fault for thinking otherwise.

“I thought you liked digimon??”

He swore, hands coming up to drag down his face. You saw. Saw your cookies and the keychain you bought him in the garbage.

“That wasn't me, I swear, please believe me, I swear- I-I got back from class, one of the guys saw and- and started laughing, they took it from me before I could even say anything. They tossed it, and I swear, please believe me, I was gonna grab it after, I-I love Digimon, I loved your gifts, please.”

He was breathless now, a fruitless panicked attempt at defending himself.

You scoffed. “Sure it wasn't too much?”

Gojo winced, hands curling. “I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it like that-” You cut him off, angrily sniffing and wiping your bloody gravel pricked hands against your black mini skirt. God you felt ridiculous.

“Yeah?? Which fucking part??” Your voice raised an octave, almost yelling but you didn't care as passerbyers turned their heads. You spewed the words, moving forward just to angrily shove at his chest, blood smearing his white shirt. Good, you wanted to stain his shit, wipe your blood all over it.

He took advantage of the proximity, quickly but lightly wrapping his large hands around your wrists to keep you close. You screeched, thrashing in his hold, weakly trying to hit him, shove him, and with his loose grip, he let you, your small fists pounding against his hard chest

“Im sorry, Im sorry, Im so fucking sorry, I like you- I like you so fucking much-”

A broken sob escaped you, a mix between a snarl and cry getting stuck in your throat.

“I didn't mean anything I said in there, I loved kissing you, you’re beautiful - fuck, you’re perfect, you’re so fucking perfect and- and you know me, the real me, I feel like I can be myself with you, please please please, im begging you, let me explain everything- from the start.” He was frantic, words rushing out so fast they blended into one. His eyes were glossy and rimmed red and you knew it wasn’t from whatever drugs he had done.

You stilled your hits, pausing in his hold. Rapid breaths mingling, chests quickly falling and rising, faded background music from the frat echoing into the night.

“Please.”

Gojo spoke it like a prayer, voiced with despair and a frenzied anguish that he knew deep down would do nothing. He would continue to beg, to plead with you, to reason, but deep down, he knew. Your chin dropped to your chest helplessly, a small hiccup squeezing itself out as you tried to catch your breath. Your eyes felt swollen from how much you had cried, but you had plenty left.

You could feel gojo guide your palms to rest against his chest, a new set of bloody hand prints against the stark white, heart thumping like he'd just ran a marathon. You slammed your eyes shut, new sobs threatening to break loose, the feeling of wanting to curl up and die had never been more prominent.

“y/n, I'll do anything, please- please, I don't-” and his voice cracked, fingers tightening around your wrists. “I don't want to lose you- Im so, Im so sorry, baby.”

Your breath hitched, lips curling and fingers twisting into his shirt to bunch the fabric beneath your fingers. The agony and discomfort in your chest was painfully overwhelming, silently wishing you'd wake up from this nightmare, wishing you never heard him, trying to wrap your mind around how and why he would do this to you. You’d never understand, would never gain pleasure from hurting anyone, let alone, him.

“What did I ever do to you?”

The words came out small, so small and fractured and so confused, seeking an explanation or reason that could maybe get the two of you past this- that maybe you must've done something to deserve it and the two of you could come back from this, but you knew it was all for nothing. For no reason at all.

Gojo's eyes flashed with guilt, anger, and shame. He wanted to recoil, wanted to throw his head into his hands and sob, but he didn't want to let you go. He knew it would be the last time. Your gaze didn't meet his.

He swallowed, throat stinging and eyes burning. He regretted everything, internally begging to take it all back like some upper power would hear him and turn back time.

“Nothing, you didn't deserve this- you did- did nothing.” The words caught as his voice wavered and you wondered if he was crying. You refused to look at those eyes. His fucking blue perfect eyes that bore into you like you mattered- it was all lies- he had lied to you for months- almost an entire semester. You dug your teeth into your bottom lip, attempting to stifle the wail you wanted to blubber out. It had been months.

Months of getting to know one another, of a build up, of a hope for something more. The silliest stupidest notion that for once someone found you valuable too and it wasn’t one sided.

A shallow gasp, an unintentional whimper, your shoulders shook as you wept.

“I wish I never met you, g-gojo. I would never-” a cry broke your words, tensing up as you angled your head down to hide your uncontrollable tears. He wanted to correct you and tell you to call him satoru or toru, but he stayed silent, let the sting burn. “Never hurt you like this.”

You shakily exhaled, not paying attention to his mindless small whimpers of “I know, I'm so sorry, I know, please.”

You gripped the fabric tighter, lifting your head to finally meet his eyes, hating how he was crying, how he genuinely looked heartbroken at hurting you, how you hated seeing him like this. His chin wobbled, breath coming out in unsteady pants and for once, he didn't look like the notorious frat boy who could conquer anything. He looked small, like a scared little boy.

Unsteady shaky hands lifted to gently cup your cheeks, gojo preparing himself for you to yank away from his touch like it burned. He sniffled when you didn’t, perfect lips shiny and slightly parted as he fully rested them against your soft skin.

“I never want to see you again.”

His composure shattered, immediately shaking his head murmuring “no’s”, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your skin and under your eyes as he repeated the same words over and over again. You pushed him back roughly with all your drunken force, which wasn't much, but enough to send him stumbling backwards to create distance.

He was alarmed, not at what you had done, but at watching you walk away, brain filling with nothing but no no no no no please, please stay, stay with me stay.

“Y/n, no please, baby, baby, y/n, please hear me out- please-” his voice was shredded, raw from drinking and yelling and begging, but he didn’t care. He’d beg and beg until he had no voice left, and when it was gone, he would find another way.

For a moment, you paused, and he thought that maybe, just maybe you would listen. But when you slowly turned to him, looking so fucking beautiful still as street lamps glistened in the reflection of your eyes, cheeks shiny and tinted pink from the tears that painted your cheeks, it all clicked. It was torturous.

“Fuck y/n, please, I-I love you. I’m so,” he swallowed to ease the scratchiness of his throat. It did nothing. “I’m so in love with you,” and he whispered the words, loud enough so you’d hear, but almost as if they weren’t meant for you, as if he was just talking to himself and unintentionally said the realization aloud.

He watched as a lone tear dropped down your cheek and it was cruel. He was cruel, you were cruel. Standing there so perfect and so beautiful while you broke his heart, and it was all his fault since he had done it first. The silence was thick as the two of you stood feet apart, wordlessly staring at each other, letting his words hang in the air. You opened your mouth and shut it, letting the process repeat as you mulled over the words in your head, wishing more than ever he hadn’t said them. Wishing more than ever you didn’t feel the same.

“I’d pick you, over and over again Satoru, every time, in a room full of people. Everyone would,” you huffed a fake laugh, blinking away your tears as you stared into his dumb perfect eyes. “I thought-” your lips quivered, chin wobbling at the humiliating admission. “I thought for once, someone had finally picked me.” The words slowly fell from your lips, laced with what one could only describe as pure heartbreak.

Gojo felt the final blow split his heart, not a clean cut, but a jagged uneven slash that cleaved it in two. He called your name, desperate and all, watching you spin on your heel and angrily walk away, your perfume hitting him as the wind blew.

He stepped forward- yelled your name again. But you didn't turn, didn't peek, didn't flinch as you sobbed, fingers constantly wiping your eyes to see where you were going as you drunkenly walked back to your apartment. Cried for yourself, mourned who you were becoming, who you were becoming with him. You had fallen in love with him too, of course you had. He was so easy to love.

a/n: english is my second language. im sorry for any grammatical errors made. I will change the banner soon, when I finally get enough sleep.

next>>

When people asked how she met Avatar Aang, she would smile and say, lightly,

"Oh, I invited myself and then forgot how to leave" or "I saw my sister crack an ice, and there he was sleeping inside."

People laugh.

It was easier that way since no one wanted the truth.

No one wanted to hear that she had followed him across the world with a half-packed satchel, boredom, and a ridiculous crush, believing that maybe if she stood close enough to the sun, it might one day turn and look at her too.

No one wants to hear that story!

The jealousy. The humiliation of hope. The quiet, graceless way love can make you smaller if you are not careful.

So she made it a joke. She had always been good at that. Because back then, she had been ordinary.

Painfully, aggressively ordinary.

Katara bent water like she owned it.

She, however, bent it like she was asking for permission from a dragon to take atleast one of its gold.

She was not useless. Just disappointing in the sort of way people were too polite to say it out loud

Gran-gran would smile kindly and say: "You're patient enough" "You worked hard" "You will learn it in time"

She learned very young that if you made yourself a joke first, no one would turn you into a punchline.

Sooo... she smiled. She laugh when she fail. She joke when things don't go her way. She said things like "It's fine," she'd joke, shaking the water off her sleeves "The spirits clearly have their favorites"

Everyone laughed. Katara would throw a snow ball at her. Sokka would tell her to abandon magic and be just like him.

That was easier.

If you made them comfortable, they wont witness your shame.

She brought that skill with her when Katara said: "You should come with us"

Like it was simple and the most obvious choice she could make. As if she was asking her to join dinner and not leave the only home she had ever known.

"And do what? Become an emotional support?" Sokka snorted and shrugged,

"Puh-lease. We already have enough of that"

Katara smacked his head and said, "I'm serious."

"I know. That's what scares me" she answered with a gentle smile a twelve years old could ever offer.

Let's just say… she just couldnt be apart from her family so she joined them.

She should've said no. She had every reasons not to come.

She's no prodigy. She's not smart and couragous. She only knew household chores.

She has her staff and various books and scrolls their mom left her.

For goodness sake, she can hardly bend the water the same way Katara does!

She's no Sokka who is a quick thinker. She's certainly not the Avatar. She was just… there.

Ordinary.

But ordinary girls are the most vulnerable to impossible things.

Heroes have purpose. Ordinary girls have hopes.

And hope, dangled in front af an ordinary girl with extraordinary dreams is dangerous.

So she took their hand. Smilling like it was an adventure instead of the beginning of her own hardship and heartbreak. Left home before she became wise enough to think this decision through.

At first, she thought she might survive it. Travel made everything temporary.

Cold nights on Appa's saddle. Bad camp food. Villages she would forget and forage. Fights and flights too urgent for self-pity.

Quit nights, and slow days were scarce. Ugency was mercy. It gave longing for a place to hide.

And Aang, he was kind… and that was the problem!

Cruelty woul've been easier. Cruel people can be hated. Kind people became saint worthy of prayers.

He noticed when she fell behind and slowed without saying anything. He handed her fruit first because he remembered how she hated the bitter kind. He laughed at her self-depricating jokes like she was genuinely funny and not just using humor as a personality tourniquet.

He made space for her, which is the beginning of her demise.

Because lonely people are reckless around being welcomed.

One evening, somewhere over the Earth Kindom, Appa drifting through the wide sky, Aang sat beside her at the saddle's edge and asked casually:

"Do you ever feel like everyone else got instructions for life and yours got lost?"

For a moment she stared at him, then looked back ahead, thighten her hold on the string manouvering Appa and said "Yeah,"

"Most of the time"

He looked relieved, "Right?"

He sat cross legged beside her, his elbows on his thighs, his face craddles on his fisted knuckles, and looked ahead of him as well.

"Everyone seems to know what I should be doing and expects me to know each one of them just because I'm the Avater" he grumbled.

"But you are the Avatar" she answered without thinking

"Exactly" he flatly said "A terrible idea to be honest. Who died and decided I should be the avatar? Huh? Huuuh?"

She can not help but chuckle. "Maybe you should've told Rokku that when you had a conversation earlier"

"Oooh, you dont know how badly I wanted to complain to him earlier!" he said broodingly "But Rokku was fast and distracted me with more pressing matters" and then he blew a raspberry.

She laughed— real laughter not just a chuckle that almost throw her off balance. She could've flown down had he not caught her on time.

He smiled at her as she laughed, as if he was aiming for it.

She remembered that moment for years. The complaining avatar and her ever helpful insomnia.

That should've warned her.

She noticed the way he looked at Katara in pieces.

Not all at once. That would've been mercy. Instead it arrived slowly.

A glance half a second too long. The way his body turned towards her like she's the first person he wants to see. The softness in his voice when he said her name. The way his laughter changed when she was the reason for it. The way he wants her attention on him.

The way hope sat in him, bright and fragile and obvious.

Love, she learned, was often obvious only to the person it excludes.

Or maybe she was just blind to not see them before.

Who can even blame her? She was a child. She still is, if you dont count her age and think that the war and adventure took her childhood away.

The realization came by a campfire in some forgettable village with excellent noodles and terrible weather. Appa asleep nearby, the world briefly quieter.

Katara was laughing at something Sokka said.

Aang was watching like sunset had personally agree to happen only for that moment.

And there it was.

Simple Final. Oh

Suddenly every moment before that rearranged itself into clarity.

Every blush. Every awkward silence. Every excuse to stand a little closer. It had always been there. She had just been too selfish to not see it.

She sat very stil. Smiled when spoken to. Nodded at the right time.

Then lay awake that night staring at the branches of trees she would never remember and quietly mourned a love story that had never actually existed.

By morning, she was composed again.

She had years of practice.

The air found her by accident or maybe she found it. Or may be it has always been with her but she was constantly looking for other things.

Aang insisted it was destiny. She countered that destiny was just a bad decision-maker with better marketing strategy.

They were in some valley so green that it made the Southern Water Tribe feel like a myth someone else had told her.

Aang was showing off. Again. The usual.

"Air is about freedom" he said, spinning leaves in circles with infuriating ease. "You can't force it"

She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes "Sounds fake to me"

"It's not fake. You're just skeptical"

"Phu-leaase" she elongated, "add charming before skeptical"

He chuckled and stepped towards her

"Here"

And because the universe hated her specifically, he moved behind her.

Too close. Warm. And unfair.

Her entire nervous system went haywire. His hands settled lightly on her shoulders.

"Relax," which felt more like a trap than a guideline.

"Aang—"

"Trust me"

Which was rude, because she does! Always. She just dont trust herself to be able to do it though.

He adjusted her stance. Patient Oblivious And far too gentle for her continued emotional instability.

"Dont push it, dont force it," he murmured. "Listen. Air doesn't like being controlled."

"I relate to that"

He laughed softly, close enough that it felt like a secret.

Then the wind shifted. Like something in her answered.

The pile of leaves in front of them lifted. Rose. Then swirled.

Both of them froze and stared.

The leaves dropped

Then Aang shouted so loudly that Appa was startled awake.

"You did it!"

"No! I absolutely did not" denial is heavy on her voice, "There was probably a strong gush of wind that's why it moved"

"Yeah right" he gave her a deadpanned look "And we were so numbed that we didn't feel it"

"Glad we came in to an agreement then" she nodded in finality and walked towards where she left her staff leaving Aang who was buzzing and giddy behind.

He grabbed both her hands. Looked at her eyes like she had hang the moon herself.

"You absolutely did it!"

She laughed too because she couldn't not. Because joy was contagious when it wore his face.

"I think I would've known if I was secretly an air bender."

"Well, apparently you're full of surprises." He looked at her like she was something astonishing.

And there it was again. Stupid. Persistent. Leach. A terminal illness called Hope.

Because now they had something that was theirs.

Not Katara's Not Sokka's Not the group's. Theirs. Air.

Air bending.

She learned it too quickly. At a frightening speed. Frightening everyone. Especially her.

Born to water, she should've been bending oceans, tides, and ice. Instead, air answered her like breathing. Air answered her without prayer and bargaining required. She learned the forms she had seen in scrolls.

The breathing. The meditation. The philosophy. Then she moved beyond the forms.

Beyond what the world deemed to be tradition.

She could pull cold from the atmosphere so sharp that water froze obediently at her fingertips. Sometimes she carry water in the air and drink from it.

She could strip oxygen from flame until fire folded on itself and dies.

She could move sand, mist, ash— enough that people sometimes swore she was bending every element when really she was just terrifyingly good at lying and playing with the wind and air in her vicinity.

What even is a tradition for a practice that has been lost for more than a century?

She jokes once that she was the world's least impressive Avatar which Toph replied with:

"No, you're just terrifyingly good at committing fraud."

Even Aang looked at her sometimes with quiet awe.

The only other airbender. The only person in the world he could teach this way. The only one standing beside him in the shape of something he had lost. The only person he could hand those ghost to and know they would be held carefully.

He trusted her with pieces of himself he did not hand out lightly. His grief. His culture. His loneliness. He shared everything.

Late nights were filled with conversations about Air Nomad temples, artifacts, monks and stories no one else asked for.

He thought her games from his childhood.

Made her meditate with him even though she's bad at it as her mind would wander off.

He laughed every time she complained, and corrected her posture with the unbearable sincerity of someone who had never learned to be embarrassed.

Morning training became theirs.

Before sunrise, barefoot on wet grass. They practiced forms older than kingdoms while the rest of the world lay asleep.

Sometimes he would stop mid-lesson and grin at her with such uncomplicated pride that she forgot how to breathe.

It should've been enough.

Friendship. Trust. History.

But proximity is dangerous when your heart is stupid. She started believing in maybe.

Maybe love could grow where devotion and shared practice lived.

And hope is humiliating. It teaches you how to survive on crumbs and call it faith.

Everyone knew. She hated that too.

Not because anyone said it. Because no one did.

Sokka would pause sometimes when Aang and Katara sat too close together, glancing at her with the kind of pity people thought counted as kindness.

Toph understood everything immediately because apparently blindness only improved her ability to witness emotional disasters.

"You're all exhausting," she said over dinner.

No one asked, because they didnt need to.

Even Zuko, who is permanently one inconvenience away from violence, looked at her once in sympathy and understanding when she said too casually that Aang and Katara had always been like this.

Only Aang seemed untouched by it. Or maybe… he was simply better than her at pretending.

The strangest thing she and Toph ever built were letters. Neither of them understood how it worked, but that made it theirs.

It started during training.

She had been practicing carrying sound through the air currents— trying to move and amplify voice farther without shouting.

Toph, meanwhile, was being Toph.

"Can you stop breathing dramatically? I can hear you in my sleep"

She laughed and sent a small gust at her. In return, Toph blocked it with floating thin wall of earth.

But something shifted. The gust carried more than air.

A feeling. A shape. A thought.

Not words exactly. Intetion.

Toph froze and said "… Do that again."

"What? Fan your royal face?"

"Nooo. I heared something in that gust you sent"

"I guess no more ghost stories tonight then"

And she did as she was told. Actually no, she doesnt even know what she did.

But she tried attacking her with air that has some dust in it.

Again. And again. And again.

Until somehow, the impossibility became a possibility.

Messages carried through air pressure and vibration and stubborn intent.

Not perfect. But enough.

Enough for short letters folded into the wind. Enough for thoughts sent across impossible distance if both of them concentrated hard enough. Enough for both of them to have secret codes and secret jokes to laugh about. Enough for Toph to insult her from three villages away without inconvenience of travel.

Before she left, Toph had said:

"If you disappear dramatically and dont use this, I will personally hunt you. "

She smiled.

"Comforting"

"I'm serious"

"I know. That's why its comforting"

Katara was the one who finally said it. They were sitting by the river at sunset, the world unfairly beautiful. For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then Katara said softly:

"You should tell him" then she belatedly added, "You love him"

It wasn't a question.

She felt her whole body lock and denial is as automatic as she breathe "Who? Sokka? Of course I do, he's our—"

"I meant Aang"

Katara looked at her. Not accusing. Not pitying. Just knowing.

And somehow that was worse.

"It it that obvious?" her voice came out smaller than she wanted.

Katara sighed, looking down at the water, "Only if someone's paying attention"

She chuckled once. Bitter. "So everyone, then"

"No." Katara shook her head. "Mostly just me"

That should have comforted her but she knew how things are within their circle. No secret remains a secret for that long.

'Sis, if you know, then Toph knew then Sokka noticed and while Zuko can be dumb but he have eyes and ears too,' she thought

She stared hard at the river so she didnt have to look at her.

Then she laughed. A sharp, wrong sound.

"Absolutely not." she answered resolutely. "I wont tell him a single thing"

Katara looked at her and countered, "He cares about you."

"Yes," she said "And that's exactly the problem"

"You dont know what he'd say"

She turned then, Really looked at her.

At this girl that she loved and envied and resented and would still defend with all her life.

And because honesty was easier when disguised as humor, she smiled.

"Yes,I do."

Katara's face fell but she reached for her hand regardless.

Warm and steady.

Just the same way she remembered when she was shaking from her nightmares when they were younger.

"You're allowed to want things"

She almost laughed.

"But apparently I'm not allowed to have them."

Katara's grip tightened.

And for one horrible moment, she hated her. Hated her for being kind. For being worthy of kindness. For being loved so easily by the person she would have bled for.

She hated her because she could not hate her enough. So instead, she pulled her hand away and said the cruelest truth she had.

"Do you know what the worst part is?"

Katara said nothing.

"He tells me about you."

She hated how her voice cracked a little there.

"He asks me what you mean when you say certain things. If I think you're upset. If I think you'd eve—" she laughed, sharp, and ugly. "I help him try to love you better"

Katara looked like she'd been struck.

But she kept going because once pain starts speaking, it rarely stops politely.

"He teaches me airbending like it means something. Like maybe I'm special because I'm the only one who is somewhat like him. But I'm not. I'm just convenient. I'm just there."

"That not true"

She looked at Katara again and said "Is it?"

She softened immediately because cruelty was easy and she liked Katara too much to deny it.

"He loves you"

Silence.

She looked back at the river.

"And before you say anything noble and tragic, please dont. I dont think I can handle your guilt on top of everything else."

"That isn't fair!" Katara countered.

"No" she said lightly "It really isn't." she chuckled, "None of this is, actually."

Then, because if she didnt joke she might drown:

"Beside, imagine how embarrassing rejection would be. I'd have to relocate to another nation."

Katara made a helpless laugh despite tears threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Your awful"

"Oh phu-lease. I'm hilarious"

And because she was very, very good at smiling, Katara almost believed she was fine.

Almost.

It ended quietly. No storms. No screaming. No dramatic declarations under moonlight.

Real heartbreak is usually administrative. And jealousy, when masked flawlessly, is dissolved to something polite.

Katara was impossible to hate, which frankly makes this inconvenient.

It would have been easier if she was cruel and vindictive. If she was arrogant or selfish or blind to the devotion orbiting her.

But Katara was good.

She was warmth, and competence, and strength held together by stubborn kindness. She notice when people are hurting. She remembered who needed what.

She deserved to be loved. That was the problem.

Because if Katara had been terrible, resentment would have felt righteous.

Instead it felt shameful.

Like being angry at the sun for rising from the East instead of the West.

So she said nothing. She helped with dinner. She laughed at Sokka's jokes.

And once again, she listened when Aang talked about Appa and the Air nomads, and old memories that still hurts.

And when he talked about Katara— because of course he does— she listened then, too.

"Do you think she's mad at me?" "She seemed tired today" "What do you think would be a better way to catch her attention?"

Each time, she answered like a good friend should. Each time, she hands him the knife and thanked him for trusting her enough to hand it over.

The worst part was he never seems to notice she was bleeding. Not because he was cruel. It's because it never occured to him that she likes him.

To Aang, she's safe. Easy. Certain.

And there's nothing lonelier than being loved like a furniture.

Useful. Comforting. Convenient.

It was late. Everyone else was asleep.

She was laying on Appa's saddle, staring at the stars, willing it to fall on her, allowing the mosquitoes to start treating her like a buffet when Aang sat beside her.

Easy. Familiar. Dangerous. Like he owned the place beside her.

"You've been weird lately"

She smiled and with a snort she replied, "I'm offended that the weird one tells that to the normal one"

"You seized being normal when Sokka called you a magical girl" he countered, chuckling at the memory.

"I'm serious though. Are you ok?"

There were so many answers to that question. None of them were survivable. So she sat up, folded herself into something manageable.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

She's pretty sure she heard Toph send out a noise that sounded suspringly like a snort.

'Traitor. '

For a while, neither of them spoke. The fire across them crackled softly between breaths.

Then Aang said, very quietly, like it would break whatever fragile china there was. "Katara spoke to me."

"Did she?"

"Yeah"

He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. She wanted to laugh. How considerate of him.

"She said…" he hesitated. "she said I might've been making things harder for you without realizing it"

She stared at the fire. The flames blurred.

"Well," she said calmly, because apparently self-destruction is her hobby now, "that sounds like her."

Then, softly he said "Is it true?"

She could lie. She will lie. She had planned to, for years, to lie forever.

But exhaustion is honest, And she was tired of carrying it alone.

So she looked at him in the eye.

Calm. Composed. Smilling, because of course.

And said: "You already know the answer."

His face changed. Not surprise. Worse.

Recognition.

And suddenly she understood. All at once. "You knew"

He looked away.

And there it was. The final cruelty of this charade. Not ignorance.

Awareness. Choice.

She laughed. Not because it was funny. Because if she hadn't, she might let herself break.

She wanted to scream.

Instead, she asked, "Do you ever wish people were different?"

He blinked.

Confused, "What?"

"Like…" She looked at the sky again and asked "… do you ever look at someone and think that if they were a little different, if you had met them first, maybe you could have love them?"

The words hang between them, naked and terrible.

Aang went still.

For the first time in years, the air they shared felt torn and absent.

She didnt look back at him. Couldn't

Instead, she settled in locating the north star, willing it to guide her in life.

And when he spoke, his voice was soft with the kind of sorrow that only made things worse.

"I think," he started carefully, "People are not puzzle pieces you fit together to define love. It just happens."

Her throat burned. Her eyes blurred. Her heart ache. Her gut hurts.

She laughed anyway. Because that was kind. That was honest. That was enough.

"Right." she took a deep breath, "Of course. That was a stupid question"

"No—"

"Aang"

His name had never sounded so tired.

"I dont know what to do. What to—"

"Of course you didn't"

"I didnt want to hurt you"

She shook her head and looked at him this time. She smiled wider. Sharper. Sharp enough to tear.

"And yet" she pointed at him then back her and look around their surrounding, "A remarkable outcome we have here."

A laugh escaped her, soft and humorless one.

"That ship sailed, crashed, and sank somewhere around Ba Sing Se"

He flinched.

Good. Let him

She slid down from Appa's saddle.

He followed suit.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said, "If that helps?"

His voice small and asked "When?"

She smiled at that, because of course, he would ask like there was a clean beginning.

Like love arrived politely and announced itself.

"I dont know. Somewhere between you flying to teaching me how not to trip over my own feet, probably."

He made a week sound that might have been a laugh. Who knows, really.

She swallowed, continued and started listing things that made her hopeful.

"But you were kind to me. And then… you trusted me! Then there was airbending, and all those moments shared between us. You just made me feel…" She paused and searched for the least humiliating truth and failed miserably "Seen, I guess"

The fire popped. And somehow Appa flipped over in his sleep.

"I know you didn't mean anything behind it. That's the problem. You were just being you. I was an idiot who turned kindness into hope"

"No"

She looked at him.

Aang was starring at her with something raw and stricken in his face.

"No, don't do that. Don't make it sound stupid"

She blinked, because she was expecting pity.

Awkwardness. A gentle rejection wrapped in kindness.

Not this. Not conviction that might mean something.

He dragged a hand over his face.

"I knew." he admitted. His voice cracked on the word. "I knew"

Aang, apparently is committed to ruining both their lives tonight, continued. "But I was selfish"

He looked younger when he's ashamed. Smaller even.

"I knew, and kept pretending I didnt, because if I admitted it, I'd have to do something about it. And I didnt want to lose you!"

His words landed between them like fire landing in a forest, destroying the life around it.

Her throat tightened. Her smile almost slipping.

"Aang—"

"I loved being with you"

His voice was so quiet she almost missed it.

"I still do." he whisphered, "You make things easier. You understand parts of me no one else does. With airbending, with the Air Nomads— with everything. You make me feel less alone."

Hope really is a vicious, vicious thing. Because even now, even here, when the veil has been lifted. Even when the illusion of the mist has shifted. It craves and is hungry for validation For confirmation. For a confession.

"And?"

He closed his eyes then looked at the sky, took a deep breath, then look at her again.

And she knew. Before he said it, she knew. Before this entire confrontation, she knew.

"But it wasn't the same"

There it was!

The knife. The deadly stab. Clean and familiar.

Not enough. Never enough. Not the way he love Katara.

She blinked multiple times, letting her eyelids swallow the burning tears inside.

She nodded once. Let out the air she was holding in. Because what else was there to do?

"I know," she whispered.

"No— you don't! because if I could choose—"

"But you can't," she looked at him and offered him another smile. The kind that you knew is holding everything in. "No… " she shook her head, "you didnt even have to."

He stopped. Because that was the truth, wasn't it?

Love was not fairness nor effort. It was not proximity or history or practice. It was simply where your heart arrived.

And his had arrived somewhere else, somewhere named Katara.

"You know what the worst part is?"

Aang looked at her like he already did.

And for once, she let herself be angry. Not loud. Not cruel. Just honest.

"You let me stay in the maybe"

His face broke.

And she kept going because pain, once invited, rarely leaves politely.

"You gave me closeness. Trust. Just enough affection to make hope feel reasonable enough. And all that time, you knew— No, I knew it would never be me."

"For years, I ate and built a life in that maybe. And you knew!" she exclaimed, "You knew and you couldn't be brave enough to pull the plug on it"

She laughed bitterly. Her voice shook, tear sthreatened to fall. She ignored them just like how she ignored the mosquittoes feasting on her.

"And… its not even your fault. I knew you love Katara. Devastatingly so. I'd be blind to not see it. I'd be deaf to not hear it from you" she paused again, trying to gain control on her emotions.

"I was the one foolish enough to put meaning in those moments that we shared. It was selfish of me to think because we both have airbending, because we have our own thing, because you share with me things you dont share with others— that maybe, maybe you might look at me and choose differently. That you might see me"

Aang whispered, devastated:

"You are worth choosing."

She smiled then. Small. Sad. Final.

"But not by you"

Silence. That was enough.

"I think…" Then she stepped away from from him, and said, with all the gentleness of a closing door:

"… I will always love you a little. I wish I didn't. But I will."

He looked like grief had introduced itself and kissed him.

And for the first time since she had climed onto Appa's back all those years ago, she chose herself over staying.

"And I think," still smiling she said, "that's the last thing I'm ever going to give you."

Then she walked away.

And this time she did not look back.

The war ended. The world celebrated.

Aang kissed Katara beneath a sky that finally belonged to tomorrow.

And she smiled. Of course she smiled.

She clapped when eveyone clapped. She laughed when everyone laughed.

She stood beside them in victory and looked exactly like someone who had made peace with all of it.

Maybe she had. Mostly.

But peace was louder than war. Because now there was time.

Time to notice. Time to remember. Time to ask herself who she was when she was no longer trying to be enough for someone else.

That question terrified her.

So she stayed. Because leaving immediately would make it look like heartbreak.

No. If she leaves, it will be on her own terms. Own reason, own choices and benefit.

So she stayed.

Long enough for peace to become believable and normal. Long enough for Katara to stop watching her with quiet guilt. Long enough for Aang to stop looking like the embodiment of apology. Long enough for Appa to have children.

That part, oddly, mattered the most.

Because if Aang was the last airbender, Appa had been the last sky bison. Because if she's leaving, she would need a cuddle buddy.

She would not leave him alone inside extinction if she could help it. So she helped fix that frst.

It started as a joke. Mostly.

They were older now. Not old, but older— at that dangerous age where everyone around you starts talking about permanence like it is a reasonable thing to attempt and have.

Aang was talking about rebuilding Air Nomad culture. Again. He always was.

Some things just never changed.

He talked about the weight of being the last and desperate need to stop being it.

She listened because she always had.

Then, over tea she said lightly,

"Well… if we're rebuilding things, perhaps start with Appa" she said, acting as if she pittied Appa's singleness. "Poor Appa has been carrying your entire emotional instability for years. He deserves a wife! He needs a mate!" she exclaimed, determination clearly visible in her eyes.

"His carnal needs havent been met for a hundred years. He lived more like a monk than you ever could Aang! Don't you pity that giant flying caterpillar?!"

Aang nearly choked. "G-giant caterpillar?"

Katara chortled into her cup.

Sokka said with a raised eyebrow, "And how are we even going to achieve that, my dear flying sister?" a bit skeptical, like he always is. "We travel far and wide and we havent seen a flying bison anywhere!"

"Hohoho" she chuckled like those obnoxious princess in some play they've watched few days ago.

"You're creeping me here" Sokka sweatdropped.

"Maybe you haven't but I have!" she exclaimed

Sokka pointed a finger at her and called bullshit, "Don't lie! You were hardly apart from us. So what time do you even have to see them alone?"

"Zukko, bring me the map"

"What now. Did you somehow made the big bad fire lord as your lackey?" crossing his arms, Sokka grumbled.

Instead of answering his question she looked at them playfully then covered her mouth, then looked at the side avoiding their eyes and said "Hoho~ Who knows~"

If she had a cat tail, they would've seen it swishing playfully.

"Wha-What? Zuko, what's the meaning of this?!"

Poor Sokka was ignored as Zukko laid out the map that for some reason have a drawing on a certain region of the Fire Nation.

"Why is there a cat drawing here?" Sokka pointed out in which she chirped happily with "That's a Appa!"

"Gurl, are you drunk" Toph, bless her soul, asked as she looked wearily at the tea cups.

"Nope. Just giddy hehe. Imagine, more fluff balls in town"

"And we lost her in her merry land"

Since she seems to be lost in her imagination, it was Zuko who had to explain how they found the hidden herds of the flying bison.

"I can't believe I'm hearing a discussion about Appa's love life before mine" Toph grumbled.

"That's because your ideal type dont exist!" she countered pointing finger at Toph "Dont you dare oppose my flying bison repopulation plan! I need a cuddle buddy. It isn't fair that only Aang have one" she grumbled before drinking her tea.

And because the universe love surprises.

The proposal was approved. Contacts were established. Ancient records were dug up. Hope, once again, arrived disguised as logistics.

She threw herself into it with strange kind of devotion. Everyone thought it was because she cared about Aang and Appa.

Which was true. Partially.

Toph, of course, understood. Because Toph undersood everything she wish she didn't.

One afternoon, while she was painting, Toph dropped onto her studio's floor and watched her paint for few minutes before she spoke;

"You're planning to leave, aren't you?"

It was a statement disguised as question.

She paused. She didn't look up. Then continued painting again.

"Whatever do you mean Toph?"

Toph snorted. Then silence.

She watched her drown in the painting she's pouring her mind and soul into. It had always been like this whenever she tried running away or if she need to hide something. She poured them in painting, in art, or music that only the air could carry and remember.

"You've been wanting to leave." she paused, "For the longest time, you've been looking for your way out."

She stilled and looked at her, because it wasn't a lie. Because hearing it aloud made it real.

Toph, now layed on the floor, popped a grape on her mouth.

"The second Appa stopped being the only one, you got hopeful. Like an excited child waiting to open her present" she chewed.

"That's dramatic" "You're dramatic" "Excuse you, I have flare" she rolled her eyes. "Yeah right. Its that exact same diseased as Sokka. Dramatitis" Toph popped another grape on her mouth

She laughed despite how ridiculous everything sounds.

And Toph, with an emotional subtlety of a landslide, continued:

"The students were a dead giveaway, by the way"

That made her pause

"Huh? Isn't that the most subtle one? Teaching aspirants how to airbend. I've got good reputation to boot" she's not even denying anything anymore.

"To others yeah. But I know you" another grape to her mouth it is. "For someone who likes her freedom so much that she would rather drift around, you sure follow a strict schedule for teaching."

"I had too. You cant have random time to teach, you know. I dont want them budgering me around for which day and time I would be free"

Toph pointed at her and said "That's the thing. Its too logical. Too clinical. Totally not like you. Its like a final hoorah for something." she said in finality. "I feel like I'm the only one with functioning eyes here. How can I see things they couldn't see? Are they blind?"

The irony caught her off guard that it made her fall from the chair she was seating at. The blind woman complaining about their abled friends blindness will never get old.

"If you had stick to just selling your painting and sculptures, it would've been less obvioust yknow" Toph added as she added another grape that would go down her stomache in no time "You've been doing that since we've been on the run or on the fly? You get what I mean. And hey, anything made under your name inflated in price value"

"Should I stop teaching then?"

"Nah. Apparently they are too blind to see the obvious. Stopping now would be like telling them they're dumb"

Toph turned her head towards her. Her eyes somehow sharper than sight.

"Just dont forget that you can come home to me when the going get tough. I can hide you from them too, y'know" she said with outmost sincerity.

"My reputation exceeds me, dear. I doubt you can hide me in your little hut" she jest, but she's thankful.

They both knew that.

Because somehow, someone noticed her silent plea. Someone noticed her closing the door before shutting it close and let the ocean swallow the key.

And they were kind enough to reach out and ask for a duplicate.

They didnt listen to everyone's congratulatory messages. They didn't mistake her competence for contentment. They didn't allow her to disappear just as easily.

They made sure that there was a tether connecting them, regardless of how thin it may be.

She told everyone she was taking a vacation. That was the official version.

Sokka complained and told her to take him with her. Katara hugged her and told her that she deserved it. Aang smiled softly and asked where she was going. She smiled back and said:

"Away from you, obviously. I cant handle your brooding nose anymore"

Everyone laughed. Because she made it sound like a joke. She had always been good at that.

Only Gran-Gran knew the truth.

And even she knew about it just few days after she left the warm embrace of Katara and the ventured on her own journey.

She stood before them at dawn with one bag, enough money and souvenirs with her. and the kind of calm that only comes after a decision has been made so thoroughly it no longer hurts.

She knelt down to hug Gran-Gran the moment she saw her. Its been so long since she's been home. She missed her scent, her voice, and her embrace.

"What brought you home child?" Gran-Gran asked as she enveloped her in a warm embrace in contrast to their winter season.

"Can't your grandchild see you just because?" she joked, her voice croaked. "I missed you so much Gran-Gran" she nuzzled deeper in her embrace.

Gran-Gran did not ask much. She let her cry in her embraced, wiped the snot off her face, and laughed at her when she noticed how puffy she had looked.

She let her stay, cooked her favorite meal, let her play they with the pequins the way she used to. She let her teach the kids, now turned into a teenager. She tell them tales of their adventure, of the places they've been too, showed them drawings and gave them gifts that are timely but timeless.

Kanna let her be her own person in their own home, because at the back of her mind, she knew that this might be the last time she will see this child. She let her babble like the kid that she once was, she allowed her cuddle times that she was so shy to ask. They braided each other' s hair, exchanged stories over meal time, knitted together.

They made the most of their 'borrowed' and limited time.

One dinner Gran-Gran finally asked "For how long will you be gone?" with no preemptive plan to stop her or to tell her stay. It's like she knew this child would just fly and disappear if she doesnt find her anchors.

She smiled, "I dont know yet"

"Will you come back?"

That made her pause, she looked at the food on the table filled with dishes Gran-Gran knew she loved. The house is no longer a temporary tent but is a wooden cabin, much sturdier than the one she grew up in. She looked at the neatly scattered knitted, finished and unfinished project they both started.

Then she looked at Gran-Gran. She aged so much over the years. There are more lines on her face than the ones she used to trace when she was younger, hoping to smooth them out then pout when they sag back.

She can't fully leave this yet. She cant leave her yet. She can't leave the mother that raised her yet.

"I'll come back here each year" she said in finality, "But I dont think I'll go back there anytime soon"

Gran-Gran did not ask. She was used to this child's vague and stubborn ways.

She sighed though "You told them you're taking a vacation didn't you?"

Chopstick stucked on her mouth. Her eyes wide, and she smiled awkardly just like how she does when she's caught taking another slice of the meat that was supposed to be preserved for another meal when she was younger.

"Uhm… Uhhh" she looked like a gaping fish in front of her mother grandma.

Gran-Gran just looked at her and shook her head. She was pretty sure she heared her say "This child" in a low voice.

At that moment she thought of Katara. Of Sokka. Of Aang.

She thought of Zuko too, but she's can bet Sokka's broken heart that he knew what she was planning. After all, he handed her a weaned child of Appa saying "That can't carry you yet, but you can train her when you're on the run"

T'was a scary exchange to be honest. She was half-asleep when they decided to meet and when he handed the baby to her. She thought she was wanted in some nation or something.

She thought of Toph too, that kid almost foiled her plans! Kept hiding her maps and notes. Then sometimes made it impossible for her to sell or trade her craft by making the middle man arrive days late.

Those two can survive without her. Maybe she'll pop up every now and then, who knows.

But Katara, Sokka, and Aang?

"I think they deserved honesty. And I dont think the me right now is kind enough give them that" her thoughts spilled out causing her Gran-Gran to look at her across the table.

"They will ask questions"

"Well… Maman, make up an excuse for me hehe" she asked sheppishly.

The next day she left before sunrise. No dramatic farewell. No tears. No one last look.

Just a note on table bidding her mother farewell and a bag of cash she might need in case of emergency.

Just her. A bag. A future. And the ocean, for the first time, opening for her without needing to ask for permission.

They noticed after three weeks of silence from her. There should have atleast been a letter by now.

Sokka complained first. Because Sokka noticed absence like others noticed the incoming storm.

"This is suspicious," he announced over breakfast.

Katara barely looked up, "What is?"

"Her vacation. It's been too silent." he answered, suspicion is creeping on his tone.

"Let her be. She cant possibly report every moment she had on us" Katara countered, but she too is concerned, after all, this is the first time that their youngest have been away from them on her own.

"She organized my kitchen before leaving. Then left multiple paintings and sculptures she made in my house, saying that if I'm short for money I should sell them in months or years time. The price appreciates or something" he stabbed the pork on his plate then continued "That's not the behavior of a woman seeking peace. That's a behavior of someone who's saying goodbye!"

Katara looked at him, hard, like she was a little bit convinced by his reasoning because she did the same at her place. She redecorated her living and dining area. Placed her paintings and sculptures in places that visitors could notice. Then asked her if she could house some more of her piceces, sell them during emergencies if needed.

But she brushed that feeling off because… it can't be true. Right? Or rather she tried convincing herself by telling him that:

"Maybe she's just looking after her older brother. You know how she gets"

Aang smiled faintly at the exchange, but there was something restless there.

Like there was truth in what Sokka was saying.

"What if she eloped with Zuko?!" Sokka's voice raised as his brain went on some weird tunnel "They were oddly chummy the last time I saw them. They were whispering like they have their own secrets" he grumbled, "There has got to be something going on between those two"

"If they did, then the world would've known by now" Katara reasoned, "It would've been on the papers. A headline saying "Fire Lord Zuko Ran Away with the Avatar's First Student" but there's no paper yet"

"He could've been hiding her in that huge mansion of his." Toph for some reason just popped out of nowhere and decided to add her two cents "It's huge enough to hide anyone without being found. It would've been easy for him to keep her there" she said, adding fuel to Sokka's overthinking overprotectiveness.

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, "Toph, lets go to the Fire Nation now!"

"Toph no! Don't feed into his delussions." Katara exclaimed back, "What are you even doing here?"

"I was hungry, so I decided to pop by"

Aang chuckled at the whole exchange .

Guess its just one of those typical morning of theirs. Just like back then. Ever so cheerful. Ever so jolly.

Three weeks of silence turned to a month. A month turned to two. Two months followed by another week. But nothing. No letters were received.

Finally, concern outweighed assurance, and they went to the Southern Water Tribe. The one place they knew she would stop by.

When they arrived, they saw remnants of her. The same way she left hers at their places.

They saw her trinkets. Her little figurine's that the kids are playing. Saw multiple paintings on Gran-Gran's house. Some of them seems to be newer than the ones left at their houses.

She must've stopped over. They were relieved, cause maybe. Just maybe, they could find her here.

But there was no shadow nor a strand of her hair.

There was, however, a ghost of her intigrated in the tribesmen's daily life.

Finally, on one lunch time, Sokka was so feed up that he finally piped up and asked:

"Gran-Gran, hypothetically, if you leave remnants of yourself in someone else's house, how long do you think you will be gone?"

The elder looked at him then scooped up some soup and put it in her own bowl.

"How long? That wouldn't even be my question"

Katara blinked, confused and alarmed.

"… Yes?"

A pause. Then:

"I'd ask: Is she ever coming back?" and suddenly you could hear a pin drop as silence engulfed the dinning table.

It was Katara who broke the silence by asking hurriedly:

"What do you mean, Gran-Gran? She's just taking a vacation, right?" she asked for assurance. "That's what she said."

The elder looked at them pointedly and said "I know a runaway when I see one"

"No"

Aang had gone very still.

"Trust me, I know. I was one" she then looked at him, confused "You ran away once as well, were there no signs?" she paused "I'm sure there was. I saw some when she was here. They were so evident, that you would be blind not to see them."

And that cuts the deepest. Because they didnt see.

Because apparently she was just fussy and looking after them like she would usually do.

Sokka laughed sharply. Like he had just heard some bad joke across the pub. "That's not funny Gran-Gran"

He started hitting the side of his head where his ears were "Some snow must've melted in my ears when I played with the kids earlier"

"No," the elder said softly. "It isn't."

Aang said nothing.

Because there it was. The thing he feared and believed wouldn't happen.

She's really gone.

Not for time. Not for distance,

Gone.

And she hadn't told them. Not because she forgot Because she choose not to. That was the wound. Not absence.

Intention

Toph found them found them afterward. She was conveniently asleep during the entire lunch, which was unusual for her.

They were sitting outside, looking like grief had physically punched exhaustion in their system.

She walked towards them, took one look, and said:

"Sooo…You found out huh" she said it so brazenly as she brushed the gunked she got off her ear.

Sokka gawked and pointed an accusing finger at her "You knew and didn't bother to tell us?"

Toph shrugged. "Obviously"

Katara looked stricken, what could've had happened that made her younger sister trust Toph more than her?

"And you said nothing?"

"Its not like she told me" she shrugged again, plopping down the snow covered earth "She said nothing, and I respected her little game."

Aang finally spoke and said "You knew she was leaving?"

Toph snorted, "I didn't knew. I witnessed it myself" she paused as she thought of something "If it helps, Zuko figured it out before I did. I think"

"After all, she's been on the look out for years"

Years. Years.

That word hit like a bruise.

Sokka's voice tightened, "What are you talking about?"

"Those two are kindred spirits. Always wishing to run away from something. I just couldn't figure out what she was running away from" she said looking at them or in Aang's perspective, at him "Maybe she felt suffocated by something, but what could she even be suffocated by when there's no longer any war to fight?"

Toph said it like it like she was discussing weather.

"Zuko and Iroh gave her a gateway. Appa and the flying bison. To be fair, I think they thought it would ground her, made her less flighty. You know, an anchor" she trailed off as if looking back on a memory so precious that if she kept looking it would lose its charm

"When everyone was discussing it, she was giddy. Like a child waiting for her candy. Everyone witnessed that. Those two thought so as well. She was practically glowing when her ridiculous idea was approved" she chuckled at the memory and rubbed the tip of her nose with her pointed finger.

"Then her paintings and sculptures kept popping up on the market, the auction. She started teaching . That was the most ridiculous thing she had ever done. I was mildly surprised that none of you clocked that" she scoffed and smirked at them.

Then Toph pointed vaguely towards Aang

"I think repopulating Appa was her final gift to you so that she dont have to feel guilty about leaving you with your extinction issues. Being one of the last Air Bender and all that."

Aang looked like someone had struck him.

But Toph kept talking as if she's been holding this in for far too long.

"Personally, I just think she wanted a cuddle buddy. She can be selfish that way" she chuckled, "The students? Teaching? Selling art? Dude, those weren't a cute hobby of hers. That was funding. She was building her runway before she flew away"

Silence engulf them as her words finally sunk to their system.

Sokka was the first one to break

"How are we so blind?" he said as he finally recall their last moments together "It was fucking obvious" his hands scratched his head, messsing with the perfectly tied hair of his.

"The kid, if given a permission to do so, would just sleep or float all day. Her dream was to be a slob or be eternally dependent on to her dependable siblings. She doesn't even wanna work!" he said exasperratedly. "Why didn't I think it was suspicious when she was always busy?"

"That's the entire reason why she trained so hard with Air Bending. She told me that she wanted to command the air to do her bidding" he said in defeat.

Toph looked at him flatly confused, not sure if he's insulting or praising his sister, but ok. Whatever makes his guilt softer…?

"Zuko and I did wonder how blind you all were to be honest. It was so obvious that it could slap you in your faces"

Katara sat down like standing had become impossible.

And Aang—

"Why didn't any of you told us?" he asked sharply.

"Because she didn't have to tell us anything. We asked, she never answered. She allude to thee. What can we even tell you? Our speculations?"

"What we couldn't understand is how were the three of you so blind?" she left them with that question to ruminate from or to hollow in.

Indeed.

How can they be more blind than Toph when they have perfectly working eyes?

We're they so lost in their happiness that they didnt even notice her crumbling?

Why? What was she even running away from?

Amidst all the questions, Aang understood something terrible.

She didnt leave suddenly. She had been leaving them for years. Quietly removing her presence.

Patiently and surgically limiting their interactions. Right in front of all of them,

And because she smiled— because she stayed— because she made things easy—

they had mistaked her endurance for permanence her compliance for contentment.

He thought of every dawn she trained alone. Every joke that had been a goodbye. Everytime she said she was fine.

And the night she told him she was done giving,

She had meant all of it. She had not been waiting for him to come after her. She had already choosen herself. Long before she walked away.

She came back for a funeral. Of course it would be something like that.

Not for him. Not for closure. Not for nostalgia.

For death.

For Gran-Gran. For the woman who understood her soul more than anyone. For the woman who raised her. For the woman who didn't ask questions but comforted her silently. For the woman who took her in when she didn't have to. For her mother, Kanna.

Years had passed.

Enough for Appa's children to have children of their own. Enough for the world to stop waiting for her return and start speaking of her like weather— something that existed, occassionally touching your life before moving on again.

Enough for Aang to become less of a boy and more of a history. Enough for regret to stop being sharp and settle into something permanent.

She stepped off the boat at dawn looking older, yes, but not softer.

Sharper.

Like she had been carved down to only the necessarry parts.

She wore travel like it belonged to her.

Like home had become a direction instead of a place.

Katara saw her firts.

Across snow. Across years. Across silence.

For one terrible second, neither of them moved.

Then Katara crossed the distance and hugged her so hard it was almost violent.

She laughed. Real laughter. Startled somewhere deep.

"Well," she amusely said into Katara's shoulder, "I see subtlety is still dead, huh" Katara started crying.

"I hated you."

"I know."

"I'm still considering it."

"That feels healthy."

Sokka cried too, loudly and with immediate denial when it was so obvious on his puffy eyes.

Toph only crossed her arms and said:

"Took you long enough."

Her answer came immediately.

"You're still unpleasantly comforting."

And then—

there was Aang.

He found her last, near the shore at sunset.

Of course.

She stood at the edge of the water with her shoes abandoned somehwere behind her, coat open to the wind, looking like she had never belonged anywhere except places she were about to leave.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Finally, he said quietly:

"You came back"

"That's old news already. I've been here for couple of hours now."

She smiled faintly.

"I'm here for maman."

"Maman?"

"Gran-Gran. Kanna. Whatever people call her. She had always been Maman for as long as I can remember"

She gave him a stinky yet playful side eye. As playful as time could get "Don't make anything out of it, Avatar"

He laughed. Soft. Tired.

"Too late. I already had a whole scenario in my head"

She chuckled. Then silence.

"Are you staying?"

She turned then. And there it was—

affection.

Real. Warm. Gentle.

But no hunger. No waiting. Nor ache.

The kind that no longer asks to be chosen. The kind that no longer care.

"No" she said.

And strangely— it did not hurt. Not for her.

Mayber for him. But not for her.

Because it was not rejection. Just the truth.

She had left once to save herself. She would not unlearn that lesson for sentiments.

He nodded.

Like he had expected it. Like he had spent years teaching himself how to survive answers he did not want.

Then, because maybe honesty only arrives after it can no longer ruin you—-

he said it. Quietly.

Like holding a fragile china Like a confession wrapped in grief.

"I love you"

She didnt move.

Did not gasp.

Just stood there, watching him with the calm of someone looking at the tornado she had predicted years ago.

Aang swallowed.

The words came easier once they existed.

"I think I have for a long time. Maybe not the way you deserved then. Maybe not in a way I understood when it would have mattered. But I do."

His voice shook.

"I loved you in all the places I thought didn't count. In trust. In dependence. In certainty. In reaching for you first and not understanding what that meant until you were gone"

She said nothing.

So he kept going.

"I thought love was supposed to feel like lightning. Immediate. Obvious. Like what I felt for Katara when we were younger. I thought if it wasn't that, it wasn't real

A bitter laugh escaped him.

"I was a teen and stupid."

"Yes, you were," she smiled softly "We all were."

"But losing you— watching you leave and realizing you had been walking away for years and never saw it because I thought you would always be there…"

He looked at her fully.

No Avatar. No duty. Just him. Just Aang.

"I loved you in your absence. I think I will for the rest of my life."

There it was.

The line that once would have ruined her.

Would have made her stay. Hope. Shrink.

Now—

she only felt tired tenderness.

For him. For herself. For the younger versions of them who had loved badly, strongly, and too late.

She stepped closer. Touched his arms.

Once. A pity.

And smiled. Sad. Soft. Final.

"I know."

His breath stuttered.

Because somehow, that hurt more than anger. Because somehow, that hurt more than her absence.

She continued gently, "You loved me too late."

"…Yeah"

"And I loved you too early."

The truth sat between them like something sacred yet contagous.

"There was a time I would have given up everything to hear you say that"she said

A pause. A lifetime inside it.

"But that girl… she doesn't exist anymore"

He nodded. Because what else was there to do? Beg?

She had spent years learning how to belong to herself. She would not abandon herself again.

"I dont love you that way now," she said.

Not cruel. Just clean.

"I care for you. I always will. Like how family care for each other. But I am no longer waiting for you to choose me. I dont even want you to do that. I stopped building my life around that a long time ago."

Tears threatend to leave his eyes. And he let them. For the first time in a long while. He cried.

And she smiled.

"You thought me something important, Aang"

His voice was barely there.

"What?"

"That love is not always a place you should stay."

Silence. Then, almost lightly:

"And for the record, confessing to me while married is incredibly selfish of you"

He laughed.

Wet. Broken. And human.

"I know"

"Very terrible timing and choice"

"My specialty"

"That and emotional desparation"

"That too"

She squezzed his arms once before letting go. A goodbye. Not a maybe. Just kindness.

"I'm glad you loved me," she said.

His face broke quietly. She smiled.

"But I'm more glad that I learned to survive when you didn't."

And that, more than anything— was the truth.

Katara knew.

Not the word at first, but the shape of it. Because love changes the way people grieve.

And Aang grieved her absence like someone mourning a future he had only realized he wanted after it was already gone.

Years later, one quiet night, with the children asleep in their room, and the house too honest in its silence, she sat beside him and asked:

"Did you love her?"

Aang went still. Then, honesty gave courage to his coward mouth:

"Yes"

Katara nodded once.

"For how long?"

A sad laugh.

"I'm not sure if it stopped"

There it was. Truth opening an old wound she thought had healed. Or maybe a knife giving her a new one? There was no betrayal.

Just truth.

She thought, absurdly, 'I won… Didn't I?' She got the life. The marriage. The children.

She was chosen.

So why did it feel like she just lost a fight she didn't even stand a chance on?

Because sometimes first love is sunlight. And greatest love is air. Forever present, not seen, but is felt greatly.

And Katara was perceptive enought to know the difference.

Did she hate her?

Sometimes. In the quitest corners of herself. Because she understand exactly why Aang loved her.

She was freedom. She was movement. She was the air he once breathe.

And there is something cruel about being the one someone stayed with while they spend the rest of their life haunted by the one who didn't.

Did she hate Aang?

No. Sometimes she wants to. Mostly when she's tired.

Because love is complicated and marriage is often just choosing which truths you can live beside.

One night, much later, she asked him:

"If she had stayed… would you have choosen differently?"

Aang closed his eyes long enough that she almost told him not to answer.

Then he whispered

"Ye—Maybe"

Katara cried silently, because hearing it aloud turned suspicion into history.

He reached for her. She let him.

Because despite everything, she loved him.

And because love is sometimes not forgiveness, but the quiet decision to remain.

After a long time, she said into the dark:

"I think I will always be a little angry with both of you."

And Aang, voice breaking softly said "I know"

She laughed through the tears. Sharp and tired.

"Good. I'd hate for this to be graceful"

And somehow, that was the marriage.

Not perfect. Not tragic.

Just raw. Just humane.

She left again.

No dramatic farewell. Just one morning. A bag. And the wind.

Toph, half-asleep from her doorway, muttering:

"If you die somehwere stupid, I'm haunting you."

She grinned

"If I die somehwere impressive, you have to brag about me."

"Deal"

And Aang, he stood farther away.

Not asking. Not stopping.

Finally understanding that love is sometimes the decision not to reach out.

She looked at him once.

Warmly. Kindly. Gratefully.

Like someone honoring a grave and not a future.

Then she turned to walk towards the horizon.

He loved her still. He would love her when his hair silvered.

When his children laughed. When history turned him into a statue and memory into myth.

He would love her in quiet places.

In the wind. In regret. In gratitude. He would love her forever.

And she— she would keep walking.

Not lonely. Never lost.

Just free.

Some people are homes. Some people are storms

He had spent trying to make her into the first. Only to realize— far too late—

She had always been the second.

And storms, even when loved, Were never meant to stay.

The first thing she felt was heat.

Not warmth— heat. Suffocating, feverish, the kind that made her bones feel too heavy for her own body. It pressed against her skin, crawled down her throat, sat in her chest like something alive.

And voices. Too many voices.

Far away at first, like she was underwater.

"—she's burning up—"

"Amihan—hey, hey, baby, look at me—"

"Katara, is she supposed to be shaking like that?!"

"No, Sokka, obviously not!"

"I'm just asking!"

The world tilted.

Something wet touched her forehead.

A hand.

Katara?

Amihan wanted to say she was fine. It sat on her mind, but when she opened her mouth, all that came out was a broken sound— small and humiliating and far too close to a sob. "Ma… Maman?"

next>>

“You could take me with you,” you hummed, giving him your best set of pleading eyes as he felt the once shriveled organ he called a heart squeeze at how sincere you looked. 

“I-” 

“Shouldn’t I be there anyway if it’s about our wedding?” You insisted, and despite his reservations, the only thing he was weak to was you. 

So he dragged his finger over the ribbon, slicing through it and the thick fabric easily as he cleanly cut each and every restraint keeping you tied to his bed. 

You had requested your own chambers when he first abducted brought you here, but these days, you rarely even stepped foot in them when you’d taken to staying up sleeping in his sheets. He liked your little scowl when you peeled off the now torn dress from your body, getting out of bed and rubbing your wrists with a haughty huff befitting your status. 

His future queen. 

“Happy?” He grumbled, shoulders rolling back as his greedy eyes dragged over the shape of your breasts, mouth watering enough he had to swallow his own spit. 

“No,” you sharply scoffed, striding over to your now-shared closet as you swiped through the selection of outfits he had made for you. “That was my last pink dress from home.” 

“I think these suit you much better,” he dryly replied, having to keep himself from snarling at your disdain for the clothes he’d chosen. So what if they showed a little more skin? “But if you wish, I’ll kidnap your dressmaker.”

“Can’t you just hire him?” You asked, giving him that look, like he was somehow testing your patience. 

Personally, he found that most prisoners, or well, workers only did their best after some time in the dungeon. 

But he didn’t mind bickering with you about it. 

Not when it made him almost feel like you were already married. 

“I guess,” he begrudgingly grunted, making a mental note to send a koopa down to find him tomorrow for you. 

Watching you get dressed was nearly as intoxicating as seeing you strip, studying the lines of your body, the way you moved your limbs as you squeezed into the tight outfit he was absolutely correct in assuming would look fantastic on you. Eyes glazing over as he committed and etched the image of you in his head, content to capture you like this in a painting later, frame it and hang it up in his private study as a new permanent fixture. 

Sukuna was not accustomed to compliments. 

But he found himself awkwardly clearing his throat, reaching out for you right as you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“My bride is beautiful,” he muttered, his voice coming out all low and gravelly as heat creeped up his neck and threatened to color his cheeks in an obvious blush. 

Forcing himself to look back at the barred windows, biting the inside of his mouth until it drew blood. The thick taste of iron on his tongue as a delicate digit tapped his much larger hand. 

“Thank you,” you softly said, tempering your tone as you laced your fingers through his. “Shall we go?” 

He wasn’t stupid enough to assume you truly loved him back. Not the way he loved you, at least. 

Knew damn well that this could just be some attempt to get his guard lowered enough for you to escape. 

You might just want to know what their plans were. Where he’d send his troops of koopas to claim the land that used to be yours. Figure out any weak points. 

It didn’t matter. 

He wasn’t going to give you the chance to take advantage of it. No matter how much he might loosen your leash. 

Still, the walk through the air ship was rather peaceful. 

The warmth of your palm pressed against his, your skin brushing against his, those quick glances you’d steal up at him when his shell bumped into you. 

The koopas were already waiting for him there, crowded around the table and chattering before they all froze at the creak of the door swinging open. 

Turning to bow down before him, his ego inflating at their easy obedience while he caught a glimpse of you rolling your eyes to his right. 

“Oh no,” he deadpanned. “It appears there aren’t enough chairs.” 

It would be easy to have a koopa scramble to fetch one for you. But just lazily walked over to his throne and sat back in it, spreading and patting his thighs while you stared at him with an adorable attempt at a stern expression. 

He could picture you presiding over meetings like this back in your own Kingdom, addressing those morons in your dominion as if they even deserved to speak to you at all. 

And now here you were, climbing on his lap in a tiny outfit, looking more like a concubine than a dignified princess. 

“You did this on purpose,” you muttered, not that you actually seemed mad. More like you were pretending to be – acting out a role you knew you were supposed to fill.

“How?” He dryly mocked. “I didn’t know you were coming.” 

Well, sure, perhaps part of him suspected you’d protest being all tied up and ask to tag along. But the chairs were just a coincidence. 

You shuffled on his lap, trying to get comfortable like he couldn’t feel the way you were quivering already. 

That was the part you were horrible at hiding. Because despite that sweet mask you liked to wear of a proper lady, you couldn’t disguise your attraction to him, couldn’t pretend to be distinguished when he’d seen how much you craved his cock every night. Derived a certain degree of pleasure in him ruling over you instead of the other way around. 

“You’re cruel,” you half-whispered, as if he somehow humiliated you when he could smell how horny you were. 

You were cute when you were trying to be strong. 

What would that plumber of yours think of you on his lap like this? 

He supposed he’d take care of that business after the wedding. Once he had bound you to him for good. 

“Lord Sukuna, we received a report from the koopas stationed-” 

He waved it away, shaking his head before he could even finish. 

“We’re discussing the wedding tonight,” he interrupted, running a calloused palm across your waist, feeling the way you shivered at his touch. “Since my bride is here.” 

It would all belong to him soon enough anyway.

Your heart. Your home. 

He’d conquer it all. 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

You hadn’t meant to fall for him. 

He was meant to be the monster in the tale. 

The scary villain that needed to be slain. 

A beast you were supposed to hate by the end of the story. 

You’d grown up with plenty of fairytales. Romances spun about princesses who were saved by brave knights and lived happily ever after. 

You had always thought you would marry a guy who wields a sword instead of spewing fire, someone steadfast and pure hearted. 

Sukuna was stubborn. Strange. Hot-headed with that horrible temper of his, with claws that looked made for slashing rather than clumsily clutching the stems to bouquets you could hardly believe he picked for you. 

You stared at his sleeping figure. The tattoos inked against his tanned skin as his chest slowly rose and fell. 

His mouth parted, the low roar of his snore starting up as you untangled yourself from his heavy limbs. 

The meeting had run far longer than either of you had anticipated, heavy eyelids drooping from exhaustion with you still on his lap. And even when it ended, he just yawned and threw you over his shoulder, carrying you back to your room with one hand while the other rubbed his exhausted eyes. 

He didn’t even try to fuck you. To your disappointment. 

Just plopped you down in bed and joined you there, strong arms wrapping around you before he promptly passed out. 

But no matter how many sheep you counted in your head, or how hard you shut your own eyes, you couldn’t bring yourself to fall asleep.

Your brain was buzzing, hyperaware of his touch, of his breath, a big ball of tension coiling tight in your core as you tried to ignore the familiar ache between your thighs. 

For a guy who kinda kidnapped you, the least he could do was have a smaller dick so you didn’t have to think about how good it felt to be fucked full of him constantly. 

You bit the inside of your cheek, shuffling off the bed slowly, stare still trained on him as you avoided waking him up. 

Usually though, once he was out, he wouldn’t stir until the sun was slipping through the cracks in the porthole he called a window. 

Now, there were only a handful of candles lit to illuminate the dark, your engagement ring glittering in the low light. It was big, and well, a bit gaudy, a ridiculously large pink sapphire glinting in the middle surrounded by small diamonds embedded into a gold band. 

Something that screamed you were taken from a mile away. 

He’d gotten down on one knee, the spiky shell on his back seeming even bulkier when he was all bent down like that, popping open a velvet box to propose to you like you were a normal couple. 

A year ago, you would have scoffed at the idea of him bowing to anyone. Laughed that someone might say yes to him.

But your own affirmation had come a bit too easily for even you to conceal your own crush. 

Could you call it that? 

Shrink your feelings down to something more comfortable to swallow? 

He rolled over, and you froze, throat constricting as you waited for his body to realize you weren’t there and wake him up. 

Instead, he grabbed the pillow, squeezing it tight as his nostrils twitched. Sniffing the scent of you left there before he let out a soft sigh and settled back into dreamland. 

When you watched him like this, all peaceful and pleased, you could almost trick yourself into thinking that this could last forever. 

But your feet were creeping closer to the door, heart thumping rapidly as you tried to quell your troubled mind with reassurances that you wouldn’t get caught. 

This could be the only opportunity you ever got. Your only chance to just leave. 

Your parasol had just been lazily stashed in a storage closet by one of the koopas, so it wouldn’t even be hard to snag it and slip off the ship. 

All you’d really have to do is find the courage to jump and float down. 

Of course, you’d need to hope that you weren’t drifting over anything dangerous. 

But considering you were sharing close quarters with someone as feared as him, who had enough strength to probably split your former plumber in two, you supposed whatever was below couldn’t be much scarier than what you’d be leaving behind. 

Were you scared though? 

Truly? 

Did his pointy teeth hold any terror anymore? When was the last time those sharp claws of his inspired even a sliver of apprehension? 

You had started to see them differently. Him differently. 

Anticipating the next time he’d sink his mouth on your skin and leave love bites. Fantasize about him scraping his claws down your back. Intoxicated by the weight of the restraints he liked to tie you down with. 

Was it fucked up to be horny instead of frightened? 

Yes, but that wasn’t exactly something you wanted to unravel while you were tiptoeing across dim hallways thinking about the logistics of an escape plan. Where would you even run to? 

Find some tropical island to take shelter in and hope none of the ape-ish men there would make things worse? 

You couldn’t just abandon the mushroom kingdom either. 

Leave the land you’d sworn to protect behind for him to seize in your absence. 

If you stayed, you could still rule over them. Ensure their safety – and your own. 

Although, you were sure it was only a matter of time before a certain someone attempted to take you back. 

Gojo seemed to think simply saving you was enough. 

He was always busy with Suguru or racing karts or doing other stupid shit that made you feel more like a second thought than a lover who was special to him. 

Sacred.

You wanted to be worshipped. 

Not strung along or simply sucking it up to see how long you could suffer. 

You were a princess after all. 

What purpose did you have if you weren’t born to be revered? 

Perhaps that was why when you opened the door you stopped in front of, the first thing you saw wasn’t your parasol staring back at you – but your own face. 

A hundred of them. 

Canvasses of different sizes, some hung up on the walls and others lined up against each other, one still on the easel in the center of the room as you stepped on the crinkly plastic tarp laid out and covered in paint splatters on the floor. 

Who said a villain couldn’t have hobbies? 

You hesitated as you gazed at his latest portrait of you, the soft strokes, the delicate touches that seemed incapable of coming from his massive hands. Each one was deliberate. This painting captured you in a candid moment, your head turned to the side as you leaned over the edge of the ship, the sky behind you and the sun on your face. Some of the others featured a…more flattering version of him next to you. 

Ones that made him look more regal.

More like a man instead of a monster by your side. 

Gojo would have scoffed. 

Said it was cheesy or stupid or came up with some other cheap insult to diminish his work. 

But it made your heart stutter. 

Slam faster into your ribcage the longer you stared at yourself. 

This was how he saw you. 

And it was how you wanted to be seen. 

You could blame it on reason. 

Say you had a responsibility or you were just doing what was rational. 

But you simply didn’t want to run away. 

Would it truly be so horrible to marry him? To be his wife and rule two kingdoms instead of one? 

Maybe give him a Sukuna Jr.? 

A loud bang exploded in the distance. 

The sound of wood splintering and faint crashes that seemed to get closer by the second. 

Oh well. 

It seemed your groom-to-be had woken up. 

You didn’t budge though. 

Just folded your arms across your chest as a chill ran down your spine and waited for him to find you – even as his gruff voice barked orders for his koopas to start sweeping over the ship for any sign of you. It didn’t take him too long to find you, the door thrown open so fast it hit the wall behind it and made an awful noise. You stilled, only throwing him a bored look over your shoulder.

“You’re making a racket,” you commented, pretending to be casual as you returned your attention to your own portrait. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He demanded to know, stomping over and grabbing your wrist to spin you around. It was hard to hide the hint of a smirk your lips attempted to curl up into, but you managed, fixing him in your most unamused stare. “You’re trying to fuckin’ run away, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t know whether to deny it or offer the admission that you at least changed your mind.

The feral scowl etched into all his rough features was pretty hot.

“I’m admiring your art,” you murmured softly, wondering how difficult it would be to make him melt for you. 

“Liar,” he accused, thick brows pinched together tightly. “You left me.” 

“How could I leave you if I’m right here?” You pointed out, tilting your head to the side. 

For all his fire, he faltered when you offered him a small smile, his own mouth curving down to form a disgruntled frown. 

“Stop playing dumb,” he hissed, barring his teeth as if it would work on you now. 

“Are you calling me dumb?” You asked, arching a brow up as if you believed he was. 

His free fingers curled into fists he immediately shook out, jaw clenching as his red eyes seared straight through you. 

“I am not-” He stopped himself, maybe realizing he was falling into your trap before angrily shaking his head. “You little-” 

“Little what?” You dared him to actually finish his curse, but he had clamped his lips shut. Pulling you closer to him before unceremoniously scooping you up bridal style, muttering to himself as he stormed back in the direction of your now shared bedroom. 

“Thought that fucking idiot came and stole you,” said the man who stole you first. You had to hold in your snort, keeping your head down as you tried to not let him see you roll your eyes. 

But his intense stare was fixed on you, his nose scrunching up, lips parting in an annoyed scoff. 

“You think this is funny,” he grunted. 

“Is it not?” You asked, tempted to test just how crazy you could drive him. 

“You are-” Sukuna grimaced, biting down on the inside of his own cheek so hard you knew he probably drew blood.

“You’re really having trouble finishing your sentences tonight,” you commented, pushing your luck further. The vein bulging across his forehead ready to burst at your trivial giggle was a cute perk to pissing him off. “Tell me, my king, what exactly were you going to do if I had run away?” 

“Get you back,” he grumbled, as if you somehow could miss the glint in his eyes when you called him your king. 

You wondered how long it would take for him to ask you to say that in bed. 

And got your answer a lot sooner than anticipated. 

The moment you had crossed the threshold, he was ripping the barely-there clothes off of you and pinning you to the bed. 

Bites buried into your skin as he travelled from your stomach up to your breasts, teeth skimming against every available inch of skin until he was sinking the deepest ones into your throat, a low growl rumbling from his chest as you squirmed underneath his heavy weight. 

His tongue dragged over your neck, leaving a lewd line over the sensitive spots he’d just been sucking on until his mouth was positioned right by your ear. 

“Say it again,” he commanded, all husky and hot as your stomach found a way to tie itself in an even tighter knot. 

“Say what?” you played just as dumb as he accused you of, the tension just building on top of itself as his warm breath fanned over your skin, claws sinking into your hips just careful enough to not hurt, but to make you feel the pressure. 

“You know what,” he hissed, too prideful to admit what it was he really wanted.

“You want me to call you my king?” You hummed, reaching up to run your fingers through his hair, softening your voice. 

Sukuna might not say it. But his heavy cock pressed up and throbbing against your thigh surely told you the truth. 

“I want you to mean it,” he murmured, his defined jaw catching the candlelight while you watched the lump in his throat bob. 

You hesitated. 

Considered giving up this charade the two of you had been embroiled in. 

Him dutifully playing your captor while you pretended to be a damsel in distress as if you hadn’t been having sex like partners instead of just lovers.  

He might not know the difference. 

But you did. 

Because even after he came, he didn’t just roll over and conk out. And when you woke up together, he didn’t just abandon you to handle his own affairs. 

He took care of you, fed you only the best foods and offered the best baths, pampered you in luxuries and made sure you wouldn’t want for anything when you were with him. 

What else could a girl ask for? 

So what if he was a little…sharp around the edges? 

You could love him and all his spikes. 

It wasn’t like you were ignoring him, but you’d been so swept up in your own thoughts you were caught off-guard when he abruptly buried his face between your thighs. 

Mercilessly shoving his tongue inside you, diving in without a sliver of reluctance, with a single obvious goal in mind. 

Making you moan what he wished to hear if you wouldn’t just outright say it. 

Swirling his tongue around with the precision of someone who was determined to drag you to an orgasm. The thick muscle working you open ruthlessly, his fingers pressing down and pulling you into his mouth. 

Groaning into your cunt to make your body unhelpfully spasm, giving into those maddening patterns he was painting inside you as those reverberations traveled up through you. 

Resisting felt pointless. 

Holding back was so much harder when the pleasure he was providing was overwriting all your common sense. 

You were tugging hard at his roots, hips arching off the soft surface of the bed to drive him in even deeper. But it simply wasn’t enough. 

He made you just as greedy as him. 

“M-more,” you moaned, swallowing hard as the heat started to get to your bed, the warmth he was radiating making beads of sweat roll down your forehead. 

He pulled out, laughing crudely as he looked up at you with wild eyes. 

“More?” 

Ah. 

Maybe that was a mistake. 

But you couldn’t find an ounce of regret when Sukuna was roughly flipping you over onto your stomach and nudging your thighs further apart with his knee next. Making sure you were properly spread as he climbed back on top of you, trailing the sharp edge of his claw up your spine before grabbing the nape of your neck. 

You couldn’t look back. 

Could barely breathe. 

Stuck there with your face pressed against the smooth blankets as you waited for him to make his move. 

“You want more?” He echoed his previous sentiment, disbelief still ringing in his tone. 

“Do I have to ask again?” You teased, even if your question came out half an octave too high. 

You would. 

But only if he made you. 

“Say it then,” he growled. 

“My king is mean,” you wryly mocked, knowing that he would fuck you harder for it. 

“I’ll show you mean,” he muttered, the swollen tip of his cock pressing right up against your slick entrance as you tensed up. 

You used to think you were smart. 

But considering how soaked you were waiting to have sex with him, you supposed you weren’t half as intelligent as you’d been before. 

And the moment he was sliding in, you were losing even more IQ points you didn’t know if you had to spare. 

Thoughts getting all fuzzy as they faded away to be replaced with mantras of his name, desperation bleeding into each one as you ached to be full. 

He was still gracious enough to ease you into the first thrust, slowly splitting you open on his length before pulling out and doing it again. 

Walls clamping down and straining to get accustomed to all his ridges, to his sheer size. 

But he was bottoming out before you could get your sanity back in check, all your rationality dissolving in a puddle of raw need as he hit a spot that made you jolt. 

“Not running from me now,” Sukuna snarled, pulling your hips back down as he plunged his cock even deeper, grinding it up, up, up for you to practically feel him in your lungs. 

Air squeezing out with each one of his rough thrusts no matter how desperately you tried to quickly suck more back in. 

A snarky piece of you wanted to argue that you hadn’t technically run away at all, but you didn’t think he had any reason left in him either. 

This was just about you and him and fucking until he felt better. 

Until you were both so enmeshed you would never want to leave him again. 

The connection between his cock and your cunt driving you nuts as he drove it in again and again. 

“Being real quiet now,” he taunted, and you just scoffed back at him, unable to form any coherent words to bicker back. 

But before you could try to find him, he was pulling back out right as you were getting edged closer. 

He flipped you over in a second, impatient fingers digging meanly into your thighs as he folded them against your chest. 

Sukuna didn’t have to verbalize it. Mutter a word for you to understand the why. 

He wanted to see your face when he made you cum. 

Cock sheathing itself back inside you as if it was the most natural fit in the world. 

His other hand reached for your throat, big fingers wrapping around it like your own personal necklace as he squeezed just enough to steal some of your air. “You just like punishing me,” you breathlessly moaned, gripping onto his muscled biceps as his thick cock stretched you to the limit, rubbing just right on all those sensitive spots. Contrary to the filthy words he was spewing, he was still fucking you precisely how he knew you liked. 

“You liked being punished,” he retorted, thumb rubbing over your tendon, feeling the faint indents of his teeth he’d left behind. 

Was that what you liked? 

Or was it simply him? 

“What would your plumber do if he saw you like this?” He grunted, gritting his teeth as he fucked you harder, hips smacking into your skin in harsh thwaps. “Panting and begging me for more.” 

“Probably ask to join?” 

Sukuna froze, brows furrowing as he opened his mouth to snarl something nasty before he changed his mind and decided to just fuck that thought out of you instead. 

Letting go of your throat to move his big hand south, his thumb finding your clit to toy with that too. Drawing more practiced circles over the sensitive bud, keeping a steady rhythm of pounding into you as he dragged you towards a cliff. 

You wanted him to throw you off. 

To jump off with you and fill you up. 

The pressure mounting higher, your thighs tensing and toes curling in anticipation as your limbs began trembling. 

You weren’t sure what the last straw was. Whether it was his warmth or his touch or the way his mouth crashed into yours for a messy kiss right as he pressed just right on your clit, but you crumbled. 

Cumming with his name on your tongue, shuddering as the pleasure wracked through you – just for him to pull out midway through, cum leaking out all across your skin. Steady drips falling on top of you as he stroked his shaft, your vision hazy in the corners before you shut your eyes and let go of the tension still lingering in your bones.

“Fuck, you’re so-” He started to groan, his head tilting back to expose the seductive line of his collarbone, the tattoos standing out across his chiseled chest. Your husband-to-be. 

“Perfect?” 

ཐི♡ཋྀ

What good was a wedding without a bride? 

Sukuna touched your hair, unable to wipe the scowl still lingering on his face while he huffed and puffed over your disappearing act a full hour after you fell asleep post-sex. 

He didn’t believe you. 

Even if he wanted to.

You were as clever as you were cute. Crafty. 

There was a chance for you to go. To get as far from him as you could. 

But he found you standing there in your own shrine. 

Unbothered by the commotion and the chaos, just staring at yourself before throwing him that annoyingly attractive glance. 

Were you trying to piss him off? 

Had you simply come to your senses and realized fleeting would be futile? 

He didn’t know. 

And you wouldn’t tell him. 

You were still wearing your ring though. 

It looked rather good – especially when you weren’t wearing anything else. 

Sukuna sighed, chewing his already bitten raw bottom lip as he tasted the iron in his mouth. 

Fingers flexing as he possessively held you tight, unable to loosen his grip in fear you’d just slip away again. 

You had made him a fool. 

And he didn’t think there was any way for him to undo it. 

He didn’t think he made a noise, but you began to stir, sleepily blinking up at him and yawning as you started to pull away, wait no, snuggle closer? 

Nuzzling your nose against his chest as you draped a lazy arm around his side, your scent invading his system and frying all his synapses. 

“Just go to sleep,” you murmured, delicate fingers decisively patting him. “M’not going anywhere.” 

Yeah, not under his watch. 

“What’s a pretty guy doing here, all alone?” You played coy, flagging the bartender for a drink while (not-so-subtly) looking at him to see if he'll take the bait.

“…” No response. It seemed as if he was stuck in his own lonely world.

“Goldilocks?” You tried again, deadset on getting his attention, even if he's straight up refusing to give you a crumble.

“…Me?” He gruffed. Oh? That got a reaction out of him.

The stranger took another shot, stubbornly refusing to glance at you—refusing to give the attention you craved.

“Of course, you.” You chuckled, refusing to give up.

“Sorry, didn’t know.” He grunts. What a broody man.

“Girlfriend dumped you?”

Hook, line, and sinker. That made him pause. Must've hit a nerve.

“That's your way of asking if I have one?” He replied with a scoff, a petty smirk making itself known.

“You’re cute. Got me already.” You hummed, aiming to catch him off guard.

That got him to finally look at you. His eyes widen a fraction—barely even noticeable—as a light flush dusts his cheeks.

“How would I get you if I don’t even know your name?” He countered, finally having the courage to respond.

“Damn, you’re smooth.” You whistled, giving your name with a grin. Fuck, he was finally interested.

“Hm? What a pretty name,” he mumbled your name, a slight quirk lifting his lips. “Sounds like your mother loves you.”

Now that… kinda made your heart speed up. As if you unknowingly signed a bound-for-life contract with a person whose name you don’t even know, no less. You talked for hours; the conversation fell into a mad, easy rhythm. He looked familiar—as if you’ve seen him somewhere before. You don’t know when or where, but gosh, something about him felt unbearably enchanting. Like he bewitched you—letting him carve a hole in your heart with a sign that says ‘I live here now lol’.

Well, that’s a one-way ticket to enter his home.

No, seriously, he did take you to his apartment—sorry, penthouse. It was nearby, and neither of you was hammered enough to drive—it was relatively safe.

What happened after wasn’t safe at all, though.

After his front door opened, lust resumed to cloud your minds. You felt his presence looming behind you, his hands steady on your waist. The moment the door closed? He’s pouncing on you like an animal starved for weeks. Lips on lips, tongue to tongue, rough hands exploring the canvases of your bodies. His hand snuck on the back of your head, pulling you impossibly closer and angling his wet appendage even deeper—sweet sounds involuntarily leaving your throat, and he swallows it down like a champ. He tastes like a hint of mint and strong whiskey. God, you hoped the walls were thick.

Your hands slide inside his shirt with feather-like precision, moving from his soft pectorals (now hardened as you felt him flex) to his defined abdominal muscles. Six packs, you counted. You felt him shiver as your hands moved dangerously lower to where he needed you most.

He slowly, begrudgingly pulled away, panting as a string of saliva connected you. The erotic display made your head fuzzy with need, forgetting the fact that you literally didn’t know his name. He could be a serial killer for all you care, but it doesn’t matter as long as he’s giving you a taste of ecstasy.

“Leon.” He groaned, and your brain lagged, leaving you momentarily frozen. A small ‘huh?’ was all you could conjure.

“Leon Kennedy, the name you’ll be screaming later, gorgeous.” He grunts, and a wide predatory grin settles on his face as he kisses you with the same—if not more—vigour as before.

His arm wandered behind your legs, effortlessly lifting you. You yelped, scrambling to hold him tighter. All that bastard did was laugh, nosing and playfully biting your stomach. Hard to be annoyed when he quite literally rocked your world moments after. You couldn’t leave immediately after, even if you tried—you felt like a fish walking in the sand for the first time with the way that your legs. just. won’t. work.

So you let him romance you with aftercare. Soft, fleeting kisses and gentle hands tidying you up.

The next day was far from different. Now, the reason why you couldn’t walk away wasn't just because of your out-of-commission legs. You couldn’t walk away simply because a man—Leon, as you've learnt—has you locked in his strong arms and hulking muscles. Every time you shift, his hold would get even tighter. And you couldn’t even pry his hands off your waist; you tried it, and it was useless.

So, what did you do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing but placing your hand on his cheek while admiring him close up. His soft jawline, his disheveled hair perfectly framing his face, his soft, inviting lips—anything, really. It was as if he was sculpted by the Goddess of beauty herself.

But then, you felt him shift. You were startled, quickly trying to pull your hand away. Keyword: trying. Because just as quickly, his large hand shot up to hold your smaller one—interwining—keeping it from trying to move. You squirmed; his other arm (from below your waist) trapped you in place. It was all too sudden—your eyes widen a fraction as you feel him nuzzle into your warm palm, a soft sigh escaping him.

“Hi,” Leon mumbled, locking eyes with you. His voice was rough, given that he had just woken up, but his eyes. His eyes held affection. Utterly devastating affection, just for you.

Now that made your insufferable heart ache.

And that, was the start of your situationship with a broody, corny, infuriatingly handsome man named Leon (Ass) Kennedy.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

“Hey, Lee?”

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Let’s end this—whatever this is.”

“Huh, wha—”

You ended the call, not even bothering to let him finish.

It’s been months of this fuckass cat-and-fish game you didn’t even know you were playing. Months of this on-and-off, months of this disappearing game, and gosh, you’re tired. Tired of him treating whatever you two have as nothing but a mere plaything; tired of your stupid, traitorous heart for always beating faster because of him; tired of yourself for letting him use you just as he pleases.

So yeah, you’re done. You’ve exhausted yourself, and it’s time to get your life back together.

That’s what you would say if you didn’t hear a car pull out in your driveway and the bell ringing incessantly immediately right after.

When you opened the door (because admit it, you were kinda curious—and maybe wanna play round two), all you saw were flowers—a bunch of them. A gorgeous floral arrangement, boxes of chocolates, and a puppy-eyed Leon Kennedy begging you to reconsider.

Safe to say, you were one big dumb down-bad idiot and did something more than just get back together (unofficially).

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The third time was… admittedly kinda different.

He’s in one of his disappearing games again, dodging the topic of whatever it is that he’s doing for a living. You were honestly convinced that he was part of the mafia or something at some point, given the way he acted.

He said no, and you digress. The look of his offended face was something to coo over, blue-boba eyes staring at you like you have five foreheads and an antenna. You would’ve smacked him if he weren’t handsome.

But that’s not the point, no.

The point is that when you inevitably call him (because you missed his clingy ass), a lady with a very pretty voice answers.

“Lee, oh my god, where the fuck have you been?! It’s been what, like five weeks with no—”

“Hi! Sorry, not Leon. He’s kinda busy at the moment, call back later. Bye!”

“…”

“That fucking bastard hung up!” You screamed in frustration, throwing your phone to god-knows-where.

You were livid.

Because of course, a pretty girl (you assume) will come running into his arms the moment you're out of the picture (and babe, girls still swarm him even if you’re in the picture—who are we kidding).

And because you’re kinda fucking crazy and maaaybe a stalker at birth, you checked the location of where the call was connected. Turns out it came from freaking Spain. That fucker was on vacation, in Spain, with a pretty girl (again, you assumed). Forgetting the fact that there was background noise—which seemed eerily familiar with multiple gunshots and a crash, you really contemplated blocking him.

Like, okay, your thingy wasn’t official-official, but c’mon! You fucked, eat together, cuddle while watching sad-sappy dramas you know he hates, but sucks it up because you like it! Hell, he wipes your tears off, is your unpaid therapist, and ties your shoes for you! Both of you had a written agreement that signifies you, and he won’t be hooking up with anyone other than yourselves.

Have you, perhaps, misjudged the situation again?!

You spent five hours retrieving your phone from underneath the cabinet just to send a ‘we’re done, enjoy your next pretty lady’ text. You don’t even know how it got there, and you refuse to talk about how you got it out.

Leon responded with: ‘Hey, pretty lady. I miss your pretty smile. Quit being pissy, yeah? Dinner on me?’ after a week of deadbeat silence.

You’d rather be caught dead wearing a potato sack than admit you sent a ‘when’ text back.

Waiting for a month to pass before you hit send, of course. You weren’t that desperate.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

This time was on Valentine's Day.

Yeah, real sappy.

In each corner you take, it looked like red and pink hearts were thrown up on the streets. And everywhere you looked, all you saw were couples eating each other’s faces off. It’s disgusting, really. Hated it, actually. Totally not thinking of Leon bringing you flowers and letting you decorate him with lipstick and bite marks. Totally.

So you clocked in at work.

As a barista who’s in love with her job, one of your favorite things to do is those rare specials. As a person who’s emotionally constipated and bitter, you hated doing hearts this very specific day.

It wasn’t until you saw a very familiar blond from across the street that you stopped and stared for a few moments. Now, it wasn’t unusual for him to wander around where you worked, but what’s unusual is the fact that he’s talking to a lady with a small, infuriating smile on his face. You saw him—very carefully—receiving a bouquet from her, treating it just as delicately. You saw the lady nudge him, and he chuckled in response before walking away.

Your eye twitched as your smile turned into a grimace, almost scaring the customer who had been trying to get your attention to order.

Your shift ended with you making wonky hearts and fake smiles throughout.

While you were exiting, you saw a familiar car parked along the pavement, and a familiar face half-asleep in the driver's seat. He was cute. That, you’ll admit. You sneakily snapped a photo, forgetting the very cute fact that your flash was on. That woke Leon up, clumsily unlocking the door and stumbling out.

“Nice nap?” you teased, a smile easily making its way to your face.

“Yeah, waiting for you, actually.” He tried to be smooth. He really did. But the slight tremor in his voice revealed that he was nervous. He faked a cough, choosing instead to open his backseat—beckoning you to come closer.

And when you did, the scene almost made your eyes tear up.

Because in his backseat was a huge fox stuffed toy holding a ‘will you let me be your valentine?’ sign propped with a very familiar arrangement of your favorite flowers, snacks, chocolates, and the like.

“So… will you?” whispered Leon from behind you. You turned around and, god, he was so close you practically felt his breath fan your flushed face. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him to your height, and stared at his twinkling baby blues with nothing but adoration.

Then, you leaned to close the distance.

Your lips moved in sync, falling into a dance both of you unknowingly memorized as your glassy eyes fluttered shut. You felt him nip your bottom lip, making it part. His warm tongue explored your mouth, as if it were the first time he had the honor of doing so. Your tongues locked, meeting halfway. You felt him suck, swallowing your noises as he backed you to his car.

His hands wander to your waist, pulling you even closer. And the worst part? He was gentle. He was gentle all throughout. As if what you had were real—labels be damned. You didn’t even remember when you parted, just the warmth of his calloused hand that caressed your cheek with hearts in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips. He looked ethereal, with his blown-out pupils and golden hair that swayed with the wind.

“Does that answer your question, Kennedy?” You asked, just as softly, afraid of dampening the surreal mood.

He laughed softly, and god, it was beautiful. You don’t even think there was an ounce of ugliness in that man. Sure, he has his broody act, but god, it just makes him all the more endearing.

“I got you flowers.” Leon started, brushing your hair behind your ear, which felt out of place. “From across the café. You’ve mentioned how much you loved how they arranged their bouquets. Jesus, the lady recognized me from buying there all the time.” He finished with a breathless—shy—laugh, a hint of red slowly blooming through his face.

“Lee, you didn’t have to.” You drawled, your voice fading into a whisper. “Just your presence is enough.”

“I want to. Your smile makes it worth it,” he stated with enough conviction that made your heart bubble with love. Utterly devastating love. All for him. All for the mysterious man you walked up to in the bar that had too much love to give with no one to give it to.

“God, you're sappy.” You shook your head, turning away from him to hide your rapidly blooming cheeks.

“You love it.” Leon chuckled, turning your head back.

“Debatable.”

“What a pretty, pissy girlfriend you are.” He grinned, purposely letting the word linger.

Now that made you freeze, the gears of your head refusing to turn. “Girlfriend..?”

And that made Leon confused, slightly stepping back to give you space, but his hands were still firmly planted around you. “Of course, girlfriend. You don’t think I’ll do this to someone I’m not exclusive to, right?”

“Huh? Since when?!” You exclaimed, gripping the two openings of his jacket.

“Baby, I literally take you out on dates—we’re dating. The fuck you mean ‘when’??” He looked at you, incredulously—as if you were the one making zero sense.

“I—wha—you never asked?!” You tugged, shaking him back and forth.

“We talked about being exclusive!”

“Yeah—exclusively fucking!”

“We literally had thee talk.” He deadpanned, amusement lingering in his eyes.

“That’s not how it works??!”

“Wait, so—the whole time—you don’t think I’m fucking yours?” The bastard had the audacity to laugh at you, making your blood flare up.

“Fuck—yes??”

“Baby, that’s insane. Are you okay?”

“I—you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“So much.” That earned him multiple smacks on the head and a shit ton of kisses that peppered all over his face right after.

Yeah, turns out, in the very deep and concerning mind of Leon S. Kennedy, the two of you were in a very much real, loving, and committed relationship. You just didn’t know it yet.

He thinks it started the very first time you slept together.

He knew you as the pretty lady who works in a cozy café downtown. The cute barista who serves sweet drinks with a matching sweet smile. He was with Claire that time, grabbing a long-overdue lunch. It was the closest café in the vicinity, and like the gentleman that he is, he offered to order and pay for her as well.

He caught a glimpse of you while he was ordering.

And damn, it felt like Cupid’s arrow went straight to his heart and hit the bullseye.

Because from then on, he vowed to visit—at least maybe once a month. Y’know, just to… observe—order, drinks and pastries are good. Totally. Totally not because he was too much of a pussy to talk to you. For sure.

That’s also the reason why he felt as if Cupid came for round 2 when he saw you at the bar.

You were literally talking to him—giving him attention—and he didn’t even notice that it was you, of all people. It’s the whiskey, he swears, that made him undeniably bold. On any normal day, he wouldn’t have the courage to talk to you—more or less, flirt with you! He’s a dangerous man living a dangerous life and working a dangerous job, for godssake! You could be in danger, and fuck, he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

But as hours passed by, he just couldn’t help but indulge in a dangerous drug named you. The way your voice lifts when you talk about something that interests you, the way you unconsciously scrunch your nose when you catch a whiff of something strong, and Christ, the way you sweep your hair back so you can see clearly. It irks him. The way you do shit to him, and you. don’t. even. notice.

He didn’t even know what happened. One second, he’s learning about you in the bar, and the next, you’re in his sheets—reeling from satisfaction: bathing in the afterglow. Leon couldn’t let you go, even if he tried. You got him madly hooked. And he’s right where he wants to be. With you wrapped in his arms. With you tracing his scars, kissing him lovingly as if he deserved only the best in this godforsaken world.

“Hi.” He nuzzled into your soft, inviting palm.

“You’re awake? Sorry, I woke you up.” You were so damn warm. Your voice, a little gruff from sleep, makes his blood run in a different direction.

“It’s fine, knew you couldn’t resist me. Not a bad way to wake up.” He teased, disguising his real, incoherent thoughts.

“Hush, you look like a bad decision.”

“One you’re willing to indulge in, yeah?”

“Debatable.”

He laughed, pecking the tip of your nose and pulling you even closer—his head now resting on the top of yours, wishing for the moment to last forever.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Leon was with Sherry this time, on one of his off days. He wanted to visit his kid— checked to see if everything was alright.

“Leon? Who was that?” Sherry asked, a bit curious. For her, it was weird seeing Leon look lovingly at his phone. It was weird seeing him on his phone in general, more so that he’s smiling as if someone hung the moon for him. As strange as it is, she’s just glad that someone is making Leon act like an otter seeing the water for the very first time.

“My girlfriend. She’s probably bored.” He replied, a small smile involuntarily appearing on his face. He can’t help it; that’s just your effect on him.

“You have a girlfriend? Who? Since when??” She almost squealed, excitement flickering in her bright eyes.

“I know. Shocker, right?”

He picked up the call, expecting a barrage of ‘I miss you, come over?’ or some rant about your ass netflix shows you couldn’t help but watch, or maybe even that annoying regular that picks up fights with literally anyone.

What he didn’t expect was an abrupt breakup call.

“… that was awkward,” Sherry faked a cough. “Are you… okay, though?” She winced, voice gradually becoming more of a whisper.

After a few beats of silence.

“…Yeah, she just—does that—I’m okay. Yup… I’ll just—… I’ll see you later, kid?”

He doesn’t know why or what compelled you to break up with him over a damn twenty-three-second phone call, but he sure as hell won’t be losing the absolute love of his life over some fucking boredom.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

Spain was crazy. Insane—criminal, actually.

His mission was to save the President’s daughter, Ashley Graham. Jesus, he’s glad she’s already by his side—he can’t fucking wait for the mission to be over.

The absurd call happened when he was literally fighting for his life. His phone might’ve fallen during whatever the fuck he was doing to survive (he’s kinda reckless, okay—but valid), because all he saw was Ashley picking it up and talking to someone before quickly handing it back to him.

“Someone called you. I guess they were worried.”

“…There’s a reception here..?” He was more confused because how the fuck did a normal call connect easily when the comms with Hunnigan were choppy?

It wasn’t until he felt a chill run down his back that he asked the dreaded, “Who was it?”

“Ah, I didn’t check. But it sounds like a girl—wait, do you have a girlfriend?” Ashley asked, a bit incredulously—and he couldn’t stop the involuntary ‘shit’ that fell out of his mouth.

Oh. Oh fuck. He’s fucked.

Because of course, your call would connect; that’s just your effect.

If you knew he was basically kidnapped, would he be forgiven? Who was he kidding, he knew he wouldn’t be telling you any of this when he got home. Not because it’s confidential as fuck, but because he can’t bring himself to tell you all the ugly parts of his job. He can’t bring you down with him—and if that meant forever keeping you in the dark with the horror he regularly goes through? Then so be it.

He’d rather wait for a month than explain—recall—he almost got killed for the umpteenth amount of time in Spain, and not experience the getaway you thought he had. He’d rather whisper sweet nothings in your ear and have you in his arms than tell the tale that he got infected by a freaking parasite that ought to make him a mindless subordinate.

He’d rather take you to a fancy dinner and be enamored by you once again, grovel at your feet, and give you a good time than to admit that he was forcefully employed by the government to keep his mouth shut about the horrors of bioweapons.

Yeah, he’d rather take the burn of your anger than have you worry if he’ll live the next time he disappears again.

He might be selfish, but Jesus, what can he do if you unknowingly became his only salvation?

If becoming official meant going to court to pledge your undying devotion? Then so be it. Leon’s already got a beautiful ring in mind.

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. 　　　.   　　˚　✭　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　　✭　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ✦

hey hey hey!! it's been a while, hasn't it? i'm afraid leon ass kennedy got me in a cage rn fighting for my life, apparently getting tagged-team w chris bulkfield as we speak. this was my third wip for this man n it's the first one to be published. i'm actually shocked bcuz this is like the longest anything i've ever fucking written, and it's also, BY FAR, the most suggestive one i've ever published. my mans been rotting my mind for a month now and gosh, i literally can't get out. hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as i've enjoyed writing it! also btw, no ai was used in this self-indulgent fic, i'm just an em dash warrior. as always, rbs are appreciated lmao ily

At the center of the rowdiness of the Gaang sat Zuko. He looked every bit the Fire Lord—broad-shouldered, regal, and wearing his hair in a topknot secured by the Flame Headpiece—but his posture was relaxed. His arm was draped over the back of the chair occupied by his wife, (Y/N).

(Y/N) was, by all accounts, the "grounding wire" of the group. She was a woman of few words, known for her sharp wit and a impassivity that rivaled Zuko’s own. While Toph and Katara were currently engaged in a loud argument about the best way to steer a sand-sailer, and Aang was trying (and failing) to teach Momo how to juggle berries, (Y/N) usually sat back with a small, knowing smile, sipping her tea.

Usually.

But tonight, the tea had been replaced. Sokka had been "testing" a new batch of fermented plum wine, and (Y/N), being the polite guest she was, had finished three glasses before anyone realized she hadn't eaten dinner.

Zuko felt a soft weight lean against his shoulder. He glanced down, expecting (Y/N) to be tired. Instead, he found her staring at him with wide, glassy eyes, her cheeks flushed a deep, dusty rose.

"Zuko," she whispered, her voice uncharacteristically high-pitched.

"Yes, love?" he asked, his voice softening. He adjusted his arm to pull her closer.

She blinked slowly, her eyelashes fluttering. Then, with a sudden jerk, she pulled away, staring at his hand on her shoulder as if it were a strange spirit. "Oh! Excuse me, sir."

The table went silent. Sokka paused with a chicken skewer halfway to his mouth. Toph turned her head, her milky eyes scanning the room as if she could "see" the shift in the air.

"Sir?" Zuko repeated, a confused smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Is this a joke? Did Sokka put you up to this?"

(Y/N) smoothed out her robes, her movements exaggerated and clumsy. She looked him up and down, her gaze lingering on the gold headpiece and then the golden eyes that usually looked at her with such adoration. She let out a soft, dreamy sigh that made her sway on her stool.

"You’re... you're very handsome," she murmured, leaning back in toward him, but then catching herself and snapping upright. "But I shouldn't be saying that. A man of your... fire-ness... probably has a lot of ladies waiting for him."

Sokka let out a muffled snort. Katara’s eyes widened. "Oh, no. Zuko, how much did she have?"

"Just the plum wine," Zuko said, his brow furrowing in genuine concern. He reached out to touch (Y/N)’s forehead. "Honey, are you feeling okay? You’re acting a little... displaced."

(Y/N) batted his hand away with a pout that could have melted a glacier. "Don't 'honey' me! You don't even know me! We just met... in this very loud building with the blind girl and the bald monk."

"I’m sitting right here, (Y/N)!" Toph cackled, leaning back. "This is gold. Sparky, she’s gone."

Zuko looked back at his wife. She was currently staring at his wedding band—a simple, elegant gold band that matched the one on her own finger. She looked at her own hand, then his, and her lower lip began to tremble.

"Are you..." (Y/N) started, her voice breaking. She looked like she was on the verge of a tragedy. "Are you... married?"

Zuko took a deep breath, trying to suppress the urge to laugh. He knew how sensitive she was, even when she wasn't tipsy. If he laughed now, she’d never let him live it down. "Yes, (Y/N). I am very happily married."

The reaction was instantaneous.

(Y/N) let out a tiny, heartbroken whimper. She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands on the table. "I knew it! All the good ones are taken by some... some Fire Nation duchess with perfect hair and a mean streak!"

"Actually, she’s quite kind," Zuko said, leaning in close to her ear, his voice dropping to a teasing rumble. "She’s a bit of a lightweight, though. And she’s currently crying into a plate of dumplings."

(Y/N) lifted her head, her eyes rimmed with tears. "Is she pretty?"

"The most beautiful woman in all the nations," Zuko said earnestly.

(Y/N) wailed—a soft, pathetic sound. "It should have been me! I saw you first! Well, I mean, I saw you just now, but I felt a connection, you know? Like... like Agni himself told me, 'Hey, look at that guy with the grumpy face, he’s the one!'"

Aang let out a chuckle, "Zuko, I think you should tell her."

Zuko sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He turned back to his distraught wife. "(Y/N), look at me. Look at my face."

She peered at him through her fingers. "I am. It’s a very nice face. Even the part that looks like it had a run-in with a dragon. It adds... character."

Zuko chuckled. "Thank you. Now, look at your left hand."

She lifted her hand, staring at the ring. "I know! I’m married too! That’s the worst part! I’m a married woman pining after a married Fire Lord! We’re both terrible people! We’re... we’re star-crossed! Like that play in Ember Island!"

"Please don't compare us to that play," Zuko groaned. "(Y/N), I am the person you are married to."

(Y/N) paused. She squinted at him, her brain clearly trying to connect the dots through a fog of plum wine. She reached out, her small hand cupping his scarred cheek. Her thumb traced the edge of the burned skin with a familiarity that survived even her intoxication.

"You have a very soft voice for a King," she whispered.

"I’m a Lord, actually," he corrected gently.

"Whatever," she huffed, her pout returning. "If you’re my husband... prove it."

The Gaang leaned in. This was better than any theater performance.

Zuko felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He wasn't one for public displays of affection, usually preferring to keep their romance behind the closed doors of the Caldera palace. But (Y/N) was looking at him with such genuine, drunken suspicion that he had no choice.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them. He kissed her deeply—not a quick peck, but a lingering, sweet kiss that tasted of plums and home. He pulled away just enough to whisper against her lips, "You have a birthmark on your inner ankle shaped like a turtle-duck. And you hate it when I leave my boots in the middle of the room because you trip on them in the dark."

(Y/N) froze. Her eyes cleared for a split second, a spark of recognition lighting up. Then, just as quickly, the fog rolled back in.

She let out a gasp and pushed him back, her face turning a shade of red that rivaled the Fire Nation flag. "You... you scoundrel! You're a mind reader! You've been spying on me and my husband!"

Sokka finally lost it, falling off his chair in a fit of hysterics. Katara was clutching her stomach, laughing so hard no sound was coming out.

"I give up," Zuko muttered, though he couldn't stop smiling. He stood up and scooped (Y/N) into his arms, bridal style.

"Put me down! Unhand me, you handsome tyrant!" she yelled, though she immediately snuggled her head into the crook of his neck. "I’m a married woman! My husband is going to... he’s going to firebend at you! He’s very powerful! And very grumpy! He’s like a big, warm heater with legs!"

"I'll be sure to watch out for him," Zuko said to the group, nodding toward the door. "I think it’s time to take the 'other woman' home."

"Good luck, Sparky!" Toph shouted. "Try not to let her 'husband' catch you!"

As Zuko carried her through the cool night air of Ba Sing Se toward their carriage, (Y/N) continued to grumble.

"You know," she whispered, her voice trailing off as sleep finally began to win the battle against the alcohol. "You smell just like him. Like cinnamon and... and smoke."

"Do I?" Zuko asked softly, stepping into the carriage and settling her onto his lap.

"Mmhmm," she hummed, closing her eyes. She reached up, fumbling for his hand and interlocking their fingers, their matching rings clicking together. "I guess... if I can't have him... you’ll do. But don't tell him. He gets jealous."

Zuko leaned his head back against the carriage wall, watching the moonlit streets pass by. He looked down at the woman in his arms—the fierce, brilliant, reserved woman who usually ran a ministry and advised him on international policy—now fast asleep and convinced she was committing a scandalous act of infidelity with her own husband.

Not in front of him. Not behind him. Not even anywhere around him. It was - quite fittingly - emanating from above him, as if the heavens themselves had split open, and the first sign of the pearly gates was the voice of an angel.

You. 

Gojo instantly darts his gaze to where the wiry, bespectacled cashier was staring to avoid eye contact with whom he likely thought to be a madman. A rather cheap device, with rather cheap graphics. A box with the most beautiful voice.

The first spark of elation today.

It sung to him, almost like a siren.

“I-it’s the leading contestant—eek!” The cashier says, and cowers in fear once Gojo’s azure gaze snaps to him in a split-second. Unwavering. Intense.

As the young man trembles, Gojo reads the name tag on his uniform: Ijichi. Huh? That name almost sounded familiar, was it perhaps a long lost friend? Some obscure family member? He looks at the man again, maybe not. Or perhaps…

“We go to the same school.” Ijichi sighs, when it becomes obvious that Gojo was furrowing his pale brows at the name tag. “I’m two years below you, but we had extended maths together. I sat next to you?” Again, that knit between the other’s eyebrows only grows deeper. “Also you plastered one of Yaga’s pictures on my backpack today.” He adjusts his glasses, “And my face.”

Recognition floods Gojo’s face, and he snaps his fingers. “Ahhh, I remember you now- yeah, sorry about that.”

“I-it’s alright! It was an accident.” Ijichi pauses. “I think.”

“Heh…” Pointedly, the white-haired of the two doesn’t answer that question. Instead, he’s turning his eyes back to the television above Ijichi, ravenous not to miss a single second.

The cashier follows, more easy-going now without any additional customers or managers there to keep him moving. He could afford to ask, “Ah- her. Do you watch idol competition shows often? I didn’t expect that of you, Gojo-senpai.”

“Excuse me?”

“I-I mean-” Ijichi waves his hands fervently in front of him in explanation, “It’s just- those shows really do target a certain demographic and- I just didn’t quite expect it with your…oh, but it has been g-getting popular these days so I don’t know what I’m saying-”

“I don’t.” Gojo admits, cutting through the other’s blubbering. He crosses his arms in front of him and aims to look as dignified as possible as he admires the lil’ dance you were doing as you sang. “It’s just…”

And he almost felt stupid asking this- hell, he almost felt fucking shy (which is impossible, Gojo Satoru is never shy). But he does so anyways—

Holding his head high. Index pointing straight at the blurry screen. Pixels which would not hide your beauty.

“Who’s that?”

“Th-that?” Ijichi turns his head back towards the television, and his face breaks out into a dopey smile - Gojo doesn’t even know why it irritated him so much. After all, that was exactly how he felt, too.

So why the hell was another smiling at you like this-

That’s when Ijichi says your name.

And any and all annoyances with the other man simply melts. Simply turns the insides of his chest all warm and gooey. Simply leaves him a little weak in the knees (and he was damn glad that his lower half was obscured by the counter).

Gojo repeats your name, like he was tasting it.

“Stage name: Cupid.” Ijichi continues, watching you dance about the screen now, as well. “She’s been a fan favorite since her audition, even though producers did do a bit of dirty editing to try and make her unpopular- fans saw right through it. And now she’s been in the lead for weeks.”

“Talented.” Gojo grits out - one word. Perhaps the only word that wouldn’t make him positively shatter that nonchalant façade of his and embarrass himself in front of fucking Ijichi of all people.

He nods at the vocal break you were continuing on-screen, your gentle lashes fluttering shut as you put your all into a song that seemed to be of your own make. You nail the note. He trembles. “Though I’ve…seen better.” Lies.

“She has come a long way.” Ijichi hums, eyes closing as he savors the music. It was the last few chords, perfectly in harmony. “She’s the fan-favorite to win the contract from executives, expected to debut sometime next year.”

“Ah- another idol then.” His throat remains parched with his own lies, growing dryer by the seconds of your voice. Your dance. Your presence. “Talented, though…” You finish off your final belt, and Gojo can only repeat, stupidly. Nonchalant, nonchalant. C’mon Satoru, you can do this. 

Gojo shuffles, “So uh- what’s the show name?”

“Idol Academy.” The black-haired man answers, “New episodes air every week at 9PM.”

Scratching behind his back—nonchalant. “Ah, I’ll let my sister know-” You fool! You don’t even have a sister! And only too late does Gojo realize that Ijichi seems to realize this as well, “I mean- uh, Shoko…who is like a sister to me. I’ll let her know- and maybe I’ll check it out, too- if I have the time. Probably won’t though.” Nonchalant! Nailed it!

Ijichi nods, and he looks away from your finished performance. “Well, if you want to vote for her for the upcoming finals then her number is #143.”

“Ah, we’ll see…probably…won-”  Except, for idols, a finished performance isn’t really a finished performance at all. Nonchalant! Nonchalant!

Because then there’s the ending fairy—you with your bright smile directed at the camera, your arms moving behind you as if you were drawing back a bow and arrow. Pop! The arrow embeds…deep into his heart. “I’m going to marry her.”

Gojo pauses after his confession.

Ijichi pauses after his confession.

It seems the world pauses after his confession.

Everyone but you (which made sense you were practically out of this world), who nodded along to the comments that the judges were giving you. As you walk off the screen, Gojo practically leans over the counter to watch your every step- and even your steps past the television frame-

Ijichi reaches up to turn off the television.

So nonchalant.

“Gojo-senpai…” He starts, and this time it’s Gojo that cowers at the way his schoolmate was looking at him.

Before he knows it, there’s the smack! of something being plastered on his face. Flat and glossy. Colors bursting even behind his scrunched-up eyelids.

A…poster.

“Her official poster.” There’s more than just a little amusement in Ijichi’s tone as he watches Gojo rip the paper off of his face and stare down lovingly at your own, right in the middle of it. Smiling a smile that seems to be just for him (nevermind the fact that this had once been Ijichi’s poster). “9PM on Channel 8, #143. Don’t let her down.”

Gojo would vote for you like his life depended on it.

That night, he went home and created a second Twitter account for himself.

@thestrongestfanboy: Voting for Cupid #143 on Idol Academy and u should too or else (҂` ﾛ ´)凸

@Fushidaddy replying to @thestrongestfanboy: already voted, youre late to the club lmao.

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy: Blocked.

Liked by @CupidOfficial.

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@MnetIdolAcademy: ANNOUNCING THE OFFICIAL DEBUT LINE, CONGRATULATIONS TO OUR RISING GLOBAL STARS!

[GLOBAL VOTE FINAL RESULTS]

RANK #1—Cupid

(Read more)

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And he did.

From his phone, his laptop, his mother’s phone, his father’s phone- Geto’s phone, Shoko’s phone (where he found a copy of the last test paper’s marking scheme—he knew that little con-woman cheated, he feared for her future patients). Until, ultimately, you did win the competition. 

Just as he’d wanted you to.

And Ijichi as well, he supposes. But he is younger (at least, visibly) and more beautiful - therefore Gojo thinks it should count more.

And so you swept every award in the reality competition, and snagged center spot in every headline, concert, and fan account that was ready to feature the freshly-minted popstar.

Almost two years later, by the time that your official debut had come ‘round with a hit single and an album that was climbing the charts, he’d just entered his first year in university. And by then, practically everyone in his life knew by now that he was a sort of…stan. Gojo accepted the title begrudgingly, after Geto and Shoko had walked into his newly-acquired dorm room one day and found every inch of his walls covered in your posters. There was a life-sized cardboard cut-out of you underneath his bed, too, but thankfully they hadn’t found that yet.

Geto threatened to strangle him until he took down the posters of you on his side of the room, at least. They were sharing, after all.

The room was appreciated on stan Twitter, at least. His latest post about it racked up a solid 992.1k views.

@thestrongestfanboy: New room pic!! Can u guess my ultimate bias, bet u can’t^^  \(★ω★)/

Attached was a picture that he’d forgone every single rule and regulation about internet safety to post: from the posters of you dating all the way back to your pre-debut days, to the cardboard cut-out of you, to the plushie of your cupid character, to the American flag with your face on it (why always the American flag for these things, he wasn’t sure), to the rare photocards that he was holding up for the camera. It was a shrine.

The replies…not so much.

@pinkillit: Lemme guess…Cupid? Lol so real, I luv her too!

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @pinkillit: Well I love her more than u so…(￢_￢;)

@pinkillit replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Damn

@gggggnarly: WOAH??

@hearts2hurts: I can’t even send hate, this is impressive ngl.

@utahimeslefttoe: need to do this with my bias

@lovelicky: Parasocialism, who?

@yuuthebaddie: You scare the huzz

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @yuuthebaddie: I don’t need the huzz when I have my queen #thearrowhitme  (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)

@Fushidaddy7 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: kinda wish I could hit you rn too #fakefan

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy7: ??? Blocked.

@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: ?? 

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: Don’t u think it’s kinda problematic to be pushing 40 and arguing with minors online?

@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: youre 19 tf are you talking about?? and also because you claim the arrow hit you, but you don’t even have her rare “First Love, First Kiss” photocard. youre no better than a local lol.

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: U seriously think ur a bigger fan than me? I was there since even before our girl debuted. Lmao.

@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i was there before she even entered the show- and yes. i am.

That particular scathing reply wasn’t over with just that, and Gojo had realized - clicking on the notification, to his slowly-growing horror - that it would be accompanied by a picture, as well. A snapshot to a room that looked much like his own.

From the posters of you dating all the way back to your pre-debut days, a selfie with you at a rookie fanmeet before (dammit) you’d entered the competition, the cardboard cut-outs, the plushies, the flags, the rare photocards. And yes…the ultra-rare ‘First Love, First Kiss’ photocard that he’d last heard went for a comfortable few hundred dollars on the market.

With you costumed like a sweet, sweet cupid. 

Sparkling eyes. Angel wings. Holding up the second button from the top of a school uniform - a symbol of confession in Japan - as if you were confessing to someone. 

To him.

Gojo’s giggling stupidly and kicking his feet on the bed as he zooms in on the picture, taking in your picture on the photocard- before his phone buzzes with yet another Twitter notification and his heart plummets as he realizes just whose room this is. Fushidaddy8 himself could be seen reflected on the lone mirror in the room: scarred lips smirking, his beefy arms raised in a flex, biceps the size of Gojo’s head—

@pinkillit: He kinda ate you up ngl.

Ignoring that, he responded to the aforementioned perpetrator. 

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: Well I’m going to marry her!! Hope that helps!! ╮(︶▽︶)╭

@Fushidaddy8 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: delulu really isn’t the trululu kid

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy8: That trend’s dead, unc.

Though he did slide into the other man’s direct messages right after that, in the hopes of buying out the exclusive photocard from him.

He was laughed all the way out of his direct messages.

Gojo Satoru did several things next.

He blocked (and reported) @Fushidaddy8.

He subscribed for a gym membership.

He dragged Geto out of their shared dorm room (sleep-deprived and grumbling at the 3:41AM on the clock, bound to miss the important physics exam that day…semantics, heh) as moral support on his trek to the post office. Where, when his best friend shivered at the cold early morning and questioned just what and to whom were they mailing, Gojo had answered-

“Oh, just my second button.” The very same one that he’d kept safely since their graduation from high school a few months ago - because, see, Gojo Satoru wasn’t the type to fall in love.

He wasn’t the type to confess.

Though, he did get confessed to more times that he could count (he was perhaps the second most popular bachelor on campus, right after Geto - but even that was a highly-debated ranking of first and second). He just never found the one.

That is…

Gojo beams, plastering on a few stamps on the cardboard box- much too big for but a single button. In it, he poured his feelings—corny, yes. But true. “I’m going to send it to my girl, Cupid-”

Geto punches him before he can finish.

@thestrongestfanboy: The lion does not concern himself with the pain that comes with #truelove, even if he cried a little ☆⌒(> _ <)

@Fushidaddy9 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: lmao loser.

Just a few months later, another one of your limited edition photocards was released: the “Said Yes!!” photocard that sold out instantly. Just the cutest photo of you receiving a second button in confession, your expression one of pleasant surprise.

No one believed Gojo when they told them that the button was his.

He bought five.

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@BuzzFeed: Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who’s The Biggest Fanboy of Them All? Cupid’s Fandom Compare Notes on Fanboy Shrines and 35 Other Delulu Stan Happenings This Week.

(Read more on buzzfeed.com)

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Gojo Satoru had bought 67 albums. 

67…heh.

Sixty-seven different copies of the very same album—yours.

Sixty-seven different copies of the latest addition in your platinum-reaching, Grammy award-winning discography: the ‘Obsession’ album.

Of course, they’re all yours. Because who else would have such banger songs that he wouldn’t mind replaying over and over again until Geto threatened to smash the damn things? Who else would have exclusive photocards so cute stuffed into the crevices of said albums, that he just had to collect them all? Who else would host a fancall event that he simply had to put a dent in his sizable bank account to win?

It was somewhat of a lottery system, and Gojo’s sure he’d funded his local record store for a few months at least with how much he’d cashed out there.

He’d been up bright n’ early on the day your album hit the stores - camping outside with a few avid others of your fandom (though, proudly, he’d been the first one there). Rushing with the rest to buy up your album, your merch, and with it…a chance to see you.

Every album bought was an entry into the raffle that’d grant them a chance to see you.

Just a few minutes of your time through the screen, and even that was like looking through the pearly gates of heaven in Gojo’s eyes. He’d dreamt about it, he’d manifested it, he’d tweeted about it so many times on his private account that everyone but Haibara had blocked him on.

@thestrongestfanboyPRIV: I’M 22 NOW SO PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LET ME GET WHAT I WANT   (ಥ﹏ಥ)

@thestrongestfanboyPRIV: LORD KNOWS IT WOULD BE THE FIRST TIME.

@thestrongestfanboyPRIV: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE (read more…)

@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboyPRIV: I believe in you Gojo-senpai ^.^

@Fushidaddy27 replying to @HiByeRawr: dont

@thestrongestfanboyPRIV replying to @Fushidaddy27: How did u even get here??

And so, the wait had dragged on with a few more accounts blocked. 

Until, finally, one day Gojo had been simply scrolling through his emails as he usually did. A few updates from Canvas on his assignment grades. A few A+’s. An email from Geto with nothing but one of those old pictures from Yaga’s abstract dance classes attached. A few more A+’s. An email from the record store saying he won the fancall event. Yet another picture of Yaga-

His heart had damn near stopped.

Actually- Gojo doesn’t think he was even breathing as he hurriedly scrolled back and clicked open the email from the record store. He reads the very first word—

“Congratulations…”

And that’s all he needs to stand up and cheer-

“Shhhh—!” The cryptid-like elderly librarian, Gakuganji, shushes him from just a few tables away. A glare so intense that it makes Gojo sit back down in his seat in an instant, ducking back down to stare at his phone screen.

Heart thundering. Fingers trembling. “Oh my god…” He whispers to himself, knees bouncing underneath the mahogany table as he’s clicking on the link embedded into the email.

It takes him to the official site of your management, where the list of winners had been announced on one page dedicated especially to you. And there - right at the very top - his name. 

Gojo Satoru.

Censored, yes. But he could read it well enough - it was only confirmation of what he already knew through the email. 

And as Gojo tries to tame his giddy elation inside the library, he forgoes those revision papers of his to instead tap away at his phone. First, he texts his parents. Then he texts his friends. Then he emails Nanamin (also one of his friends, but the man had him blocked everywhere else…)- and just as he caught sight of that winner’s email again, Gojo squeals—

“Out of my library!”

Later, Gojo Satoru was added to the campus library Wall of Shame (and Nuisances).

But he didn’t care.

Not one single bit.

@thestrongestfanboy: About to meet my future wife- how do I look?  (￣▽￣*)ゞ

Attached was a selfie of him making your signature bow-and-arrow pose a few days later.

He was well-fitted in his best dress shirt that hugged his toned waist. Cologne practically palpable through the screen. Soft white bangs tamed. Donning a silver chain. False glasses on because he heard in one of your latest interviews that you liked nerds.

Cheeks rosy.

“Bro, isn’t the call for like two minutes?” Geto grumbles from his bed on the other side of the room. Their cramped dorm was already small enough without the other pacing every inch of it in nervousness. 

Gojo whips around with a snarl, “No, for your information it’s actually two and a half minutes.”

Geto squints, “Right…” Before he raises his nose into the air and sniffs—“And god- what is that awful fucking smell?”

“You don’t like it?” His best friend asks innocently, “It’s my cologne.”

“There’s no way your cologne smells like that?” The dark-haired man gapes, leaning back in his bed as he covers his nostrils with a palm.

Geto already has his answer by the way that Gojo starts to squirm. “Well…I may have also added in a bit of your cologne, too…”

“…”

“And Nanamin’s.”

“…”

“And Shoko’s-”

“What the fuck, Satoru?” Geto slaps a hand over his forehead, in the way he much seemed to do when it came to an antic that Gojo did without his consultation (he means, c’mon, if they were to be dumb fucks then they should be dumb fucks together). 

But this was too far even for him.

And Geto only sighs before he’s reaching for his heavy headphones, placing the cushioned device on top of his head. “After this, we’re taking you out to touch grass, man.” He opens his phone to something and blocks out Gojo’s whining protests with it. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m serious when I say you better not fuck this up for me, Suguru.” Gojo stabs an accusing finger at his best friend, while his other hand reaches for his own phone - the scheduled time for your video call was nearing. “Keep yourself scarce when she calls me.”

“Mhm, whatever you say.”

“Because she’s my future wife-”

“Crazy story, bro.”

With Geto not even close to responsive any longer, Gojo huffs as he looks through his notifications-

@Fushidaddy31: YOURE SO CHOPPED LMFAOOOOOOOO

Nevermind.

Instead, he waits in front of his desk. Phone propped up. Earbuds plugged in. Back straight against his chair. More formal and elegant than he had in any of his other meetings or lectures before.

He turns off his notifications and opens up the app that management had directed him to through emails. Pressing on the screen record button, Gojo’s stomach turns as a staff member performs an ID check before the call.

And then it starts.

Your beautiful, beautiful face pops up on the screen.

Those eyes. That smile. The voice that says, “Hello?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

Gojo’s heart drops to his stomach then takes a high-speed elevator right back up to his throat, he can feel the ba-dump! of it there. And later - years and years later - he’ll be able to cringe at the way that his naturally deep voice broke- “H-he-”

Before your face pauses.

It freezes.

And suddenly the call ends.

wait…Gojo taps on his Wi-Fi…he taps on his data…he taps on anything and everything that might make a difference. And yet, nothing ever does. Gojo immediately throws down his earphones on his desk and stands- so fast that his chair topples over—“Suguru!”

The dark-haired man jolts in his bed, turning over at the shriek with his brows scrunched in confusion. Seeing the state his best friend was in, he raises his phone as a shield. “What?”

“Don’t what me- don’t- you- you—” So enraged that he couldn’t even string together a coherent sentence. Face red. Veins popping on his neck. The only way that Geto manages to even slightly discern what the other man may be talking about is by the way he points at his phone, the shared Wi-Fi router, then his phone. 

Geto’s mouth drops, “Ah…” And he catches sight of the orange, blinking right on the router that told the both of them that the day’s data has been finished. He looks at his phone…with the absolutely massive update that had just completed. “In my defense, Love and Deepspace had an update-”

“Suguru, I’m going to kill you.”

Ultimately, no amount of begging or crying to attempting to throttle Geto could reverse the fact that Gojo had won a fancall…and missed it.

All because of his Wi-Fi.

“There there, man.” Geto pats his friend - draped across his bed with his face in his hands - on the back. “At least the new event loaded- it’s an idol event, and I’ll let you play it with Sylus-”

Gojo only sobs louder.

“And then after that, we’ll actually go touch grass. How about that?”

@thestrongestfanboy: Nothing beats a Jet2 holiday to HELL. @DigiGeto ur going to HELL.

@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Mb

@Fushidaddy32: rare aesthetic: fancall with #her n made her do the coldplay kiss cam trend with me heh

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy32: Blocked.

@Fushidaddy32 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: ??

@CupidOfficial: So glad to be able to talk with my lovely fans during the fancall event today!! Thank you to everyone that attended, and even those that didn’t attend heheh…I see you, and I love you <33

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@Variety: This week’s cover story:

Global Superstar Cupid: On Stardom, Surprises of Fame, and the Undying Support of her Fans (“There was actually this funny story with a fan that froze—”)

(see page 9…)

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Gojo Satoru was on cloud nine.

Gojo Satoru was in heaven.

Gojo Satoru was going to meet his wife.

Everywhere he looked, he could see that beautiful face of yours. 

From the floor-to-ceiling posters against the stark white walls, to the stalls upon stalls of merchandise that featured you, to the rows upon rows of people wearing t-shirts with your face on it. Posters. Plushies. Bow-and-arrow lights. Everything that his heart could ever yearn for.

And that included you.

And no- Gojo hadn’t died and gone to heaven (evidenced by the way that no matter how many times he pinched himself, it still bruised). Don’t be silly! He was simply at a place that was rather similar, he imagines.

A fanmeet.

Where the excitement was palpable, and everyone here had arrived with the same goal in mind - to spend just a few precious moments with you in person.

In person!

Geto was the one that’d snagged him the ticket to this event, to make up for the rather tragic incident with the fan call two years ago. And so here he was, at your first-ever fanmeet in Tokyo. Gojo vibrated on the balls of his feet, and with his towering height he could make out just a few more meters until he managed to see you up-close.

He held one of his most prized possessions - your first poster from Idol Academy, the one that Ijichi had gifted him so many years ago - to his chest and sighed. In less than an hour, he’d have it signed. In less than an hour, he’d get to hold your hand.

In less than an hour, he’d get to see you.

There was a part of him that felt like it was tugging towards you already- and Gojo has to bounce himself slightly to find a way to channel the adrenaline.

It’d been quite the arduous journey to get to here, and he didn’t want to make a single mistake now - all the albums he’d bought, all the pictures from your latest fanmeets that he’d fawned over, all the stan Twitter fights. 

Honestly, just today he’d gotten into it with some delusional loser online (@urmomstype) that’d been spreading rumors about you being…particularly close with the famed actor you had in your newest music video. Gojo shudders as he thinks back to it:

@urmomstype: A thread of all the PROOFS that #Cupid is dating the hottest k-drama actor right now—

Inside was some amalgamated mess of pictures of ‘shared couples items’ (half the population owned that shit, c’mon, that actor was far from special) and coded messages that apparently littered your social media. By the end of it, the user had been self-assured, a few other misogynistic antis were spouting hate, and Gojo was furious.

He’d typed away so fast that his thumbs were nothing but a blur.

@thestrongestfanboy: U call this proof?? Holy fucking airball lmao (￣ヘ￣)

@thestrongestfanboy: Bozo

@thestrongestfanboy: Ratio + L + my fav is better than ur fav

@thestrongestfanboy: She isn’t dating anyone BOZO!! Even if she was (which she isn’t) it’s none of ur business and ur a loser so go back to doing loser things. I bet ur an anti from that one other agency…凸(`△´＃)

@Fushidaddy89 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: yk for once i agree with you

@urmomstype replying to @Fushidaddy89: Why are two uncs replying to me…arguing with a minor btw.

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @urmomstype: With this gift I summon-

It had lasted a few hours (and that was on the shorter end of the stick). Until, ultimately, Geto and Shoko had pulled his phone away from his face (he was defending your honor!) and reminded him that there were much more important things on the horizon.

Namely, you…

Besides, he was glad to get away from the epic highs and lows of high school football stan Twitter. He was glad not to have to fight with what was likely some middle-aged, parasocial man there over you. He was glad not to get into futile shipping wars that-

“Do you think her actor boyfriend will be here?” 

An agitating, grating voice breaks through his thoughts (really, it was the squeaky voice of a child), and Gojo’s immediately whipping his head down, down, down behind him.

It was a buzzcut boy, wearing a t-shirt with your face and a pair of soft feathery wings that was sold as one of your exclusive merchandise—and yet…those angelic appendages still wasn’t enough to hide the mischief in his face.

Gojo stares at him.

And he stares at Gojo.

“You.”

“You.”

As his blonde-haired guardian looks on in slight shock, Gojo stabs an index his way- “User urmomstype?”

“User thestrongestfanboy.” He then points at himself, “But you can call me Todo Aoi.” And before the older man can begin to sputter again, he raises a small palm to silence him (and why was Gojo being silenced by what looked like an eight-year-old?) “I already know who you are, Gojo Satoru. You’re infamous inside the fandom, y’know?”

He gapes, “I am?”

“Mhm.”

Before he starts twirling the curls of white at the base of his neck, Todo stares in bewilderment as the taller man starts squirming. “So like…d’you think that means there’s a chance she’d notice me, too?”

“…”

“…”

“F-forget that-”

“You really think you can pull fine shyt?” Todo squints up at Gojo, and then down at the sheer amount of merchandise he was draped in. “You’re chopped with a negative aura that no amount of aura farming could possibly replenish, brother. Your eyes are built like a 24k labubu. If you were a meal, even Fanum wouldn’t ask for tax. Even I’d win a mid-off against you. I hate to break it to you but she’s much better off with that actor-”

“Don’t think that just because you’re speaking in brainrot terms I don’t understand you- I’m brainrotted, too.” Seething, “And they’re not even dating-”

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

“Definitely not!”

The little boy nods, sagely. “Still got the views for the music video, didn’t I? And what did you do? Whine about how you weren’t married to her yet?”

And to that he doesn’t have much to say, “Well…”

The blonde-haired woman that’d been holding Todo back finally announces her presence, “Hi there- apologies. My name’s Yuki.” She reached out her hand, and they shook - with Gojo dazed by the absolute demolishment of his character. “I’ve warned him about his ah- ragebaiting issue…it’s a work-in-progress.”

“I-I see…” Gojo breathes, looking back at the line - just a little longer and he’d be out of here. Just a little longer and he’d get to see you—“One question, I’m not actually chopped, am I?”

As Todo whispers the definition to Yuki, she shakes her head happily. “Oh, not at all! You’re not exactly my type, but trust that you’re quite the handsome character.”

“Handsome enough to pull my wife?” At her visible confusion, he jerks his head where your figure was seated at a black-clothed table, signing posters and making conversation with your line of fans. Oh- how perfect you were.

“O-oh! Her?” A line of sweat beads at her temple, “Well, why not?”

Gojo - quite maturely - sticks his tongue out at Todo.

But the boy only replies, “You look like you wear wigs.”

Gojo self-consciously runs a hand through his soft white hair, “I-I don’t!” He did take particularly good care of his hair.

“Do you wear wigs?”

“No, I do not-”

“Have you worn wigs?”

“No, I have not-”

“Will you wear wigs?”

“…Maybe?!”

“When will you wear wigs-”

“Please!”

“Sir, we’re going to have to ask you to step out.” A gruff, masculine voice speaks out from beside him- and it didn’t match Todo’s probing voice. Not at all. Gojo turns his surprised head around and finds himself face-to-face with a stony-faced man. 

As tall as him. Even beefier. With shades that reflected his own widened blue eyes.

His jaw drops, “Wh-what…”

The security guard gestures to Todo, and then towards the door with the ‘Exit’ sign. “For your disruption, we’re going to have to ask you to step out of the premises.” He cracks his knuckles, “Or you shall be escorted out.”

“No-” Gojo’s gasping, looking around for an answer. “No no no no- disruption? What disruption?”

“Arguments with a child-”

“That lil’ shit deserved it—” Gojo whines out, before realizing that that likely didn’t help his case. “I-I mean-” He’s gesturing to the boy that was clearly not disrupted in any sense of the word, “-look at him! He’s completely fine! In fact, I’m the one emotionally scarred.”

The other two also start to protest this course of action, and the security guard stays silent for a beat, and lets the counterargument sink in…

Before he raises his walkie-talkie up to his mouth, “We’re having some resistance here, I request back-up at the front of the line.”

“No no no-” He was just a meter away - a meter. “No, wait- please no.” And by now, the other fans were starting to point and stare at him now. At the way he was panicking. At the way he was trying to inch himself closer to the signing event. At the way he was so close to you- and yet, so far, with two burly security guards that clapped their hands down on his shoulders and dragged him away by his arms.

All the way to the exit.

As you stared.

“NOOOOOOO—!”

@thestrongestfanboy: I’m gonna be honest, kitten, daddy’s about to kill himself   ٩(× ×)۶

@Fushidaddy103 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i saw the video youre trending on tiktok lmaooooo

@urmomstype replying to @thestrongestfanboy: F in the chat

@pinkillit replying to @urmomstype: F

@hearts2hurts replying to @urmomstype: F

@utahimeslefttoe replying to @urmomstype: F

@lovelicky replying to @urmomstype: F

@CupidOfficial: Tokyo, oh Tokyo~

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TRENDING ON TIKTOK:

#Cupidfanmeet

#thatonecrazyguy

#thestrongestfanboy

#Cupiddatingrumors

#Cupidbemywife

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This was it.

This was Gojo’s last chance.

He hadn’t won a fancall since that one time (no matter how many albums he bought, the universe just wasn’t on his side), he’d been barred from your Tokyo fanmeet, he’d been known as that one delusional fanboy in your fandom.

Which was honestly fine. Gojo was fine.

He was completely and utterly fine-

“OHMYGODSUGURUI’MSOCLOSEITHINKICANSEEHERICANSEEHER-” Gojo yelled in Geto’s ear, over the roaring crowd that was most likely saying the same thing he was. He shook the man, and then proceeded to shake his other best friend standing right beside him. “YOUGUYSARETHEBESTANDILOVEYOUANDYOU’LLBETHEBESTMANANDBESTWOMANAND-”

“Not if I kill you right now.” Shoko mutters, punching Gojo right in the stomach so he’d shut up for the first time in the past few hours. She takes a puff of her cigarette, even though the stadium had a strict no smoking policy.

She needed it.

She deserved it.

Though, she supposed that there was no one to blame but herself. 

It was obvious the toll that all the failed fancalls and fanmeets had taken on Gojo. And while she couldn’t quite understand the sheer ahem- delusion that came with it, she knew that this was something important to him. And Geto did, too.

Which was why, with the power of social media, the duo had reached out to that ‘urmomstype’ boy and his blonde-haired guardian. Apparently, even after Gojo had been escorted his merry way outside, the two had tried to overturn the decision, explaining that it’d all just been some silly banter and there really wasn’t anything to remove him over. ‘He might be chopped and unc, but he’s still a goat. Sorta.’ The boy had said, whatever that means…

But, alas, the security guard had been stubborn.

And so, the four - Shoko, Geto, Yuki, and Todo (yes, even Todo) - had wanted to make it up to Gojo in a different way. Despite not being able to attend the fanmeet, you still had your upcoming concert in the famous Tokyo Dome.

They’d stayed up all night on the phone trying out every connection they had to somehow get a few extra tickets.

All night.

There had to be something, right?

Until - finally, finally - Yuki managed to get in contact with Gakuganji (yes, their ol’ campus librarian), who managed to get in contact with Yaga (yes, their ol’ high school principal), who managed to get in contact with one of his other friends that knew someone on your staff team. And through a rollercoaster of contacts, they somehow managed to snag a few seats.

Front row.

Gojo had burst into tears the moment he read that pink slip of paper with your name in bold, surrounded by hearts. He’d crushed them all to him, so tight that Shoko wondered whether her bones might break, and whispered. “You guys are definitely invited to my wedding.”

And if her heart melted just a little bit then, well…she didn’t mention it.

Now, however, she’d no sooner be invited to Gojo Satoru’s funeral than his alleged wedding. To their own fortune, Yuki and Todo had been assigned places a few seats down. A weary Geto on the other side of their white-haired friend reaches his hands out towards her. “Cigarette, please.”

Shoko raises a brown brow, “You don’t even smoke?”

“I’m about to start.”

“You guuuuys—” Gojo drags on, as the opening notes of your album start to ring out on the speakers. He shoots his hands out to grab Shoko- and when she ducks, he shoots his hands out to grab Geto- and when he groans, Gojo only sways them in the air. “It’s about to start- she’s about to come on stage- oh my god, oh my god my wife’s about to come on stage-”

“She’ll be your ex-wife if you don’t calm the fuck down.” Geto can’t help but laugh. Shoko looks on in confusion as he moves in synchronization with Gojo to the first few dance moves of your routine. Geto answers her unspoken question, “What? He played it all the time in our dorm, I could recite every lyric and move in my sleep by now.”

“M-me too.” And as your silhouette starts to become projected on the screen behind you, Gojo’s starting to tear up. Large, bulbous tears of emotion.

They were both dancing in unison now. 

Crying (Gojo, at least).

Shoko shakes her head with a chuckle of her own. “Idiots.”

And then you saunter your way onto stage and Shoko (as well as everyone in a five-mile radius) feels their eardrums stop working.

@thestrongestfanboy: I wasn’t just another screaming boy…I challenged her stare down…she saw me. She pointed—twice. And if u think I’m done? Let’s see if the wolf can find his prey again…good luck…(^人<)〜☆

Attached was a video taken from the concert - more girlish screaming (Gojo’s) than music, to be quite honest.

@Fushidaddy114 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: cringe

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy114: I don’t see u at the concert. L |ʘ‿ʘ)╯

@Fushidaddy114 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i dont see me trending on tiktok either

Gojo doesn’t even have the time to block and report Fushidaddy’s 114th account, because he’s too busy shoving his phone into his pocket and joining the screams for your encore that night. The one where you pretend to walk off, then dramatically sigh as you prance back down—

“Ah~” You’re voicing into the mic, looking at the sea of flash-lit faces around you. “Again? You lot are reeeeeally ravenous tonight, aren’t you?”

In unison, they roar. They agree.

With a faux huff, you’re placing your hand on your waist. It’s a pose infamous amongst your fandom, and they already knew what was coming up next- “Who’s got you so worked up, huh? Is it…me?” Roaring. Rumbling. Raging. You gasp, flattered. “It’s really me? Oh, now you’re just kidding—”

A furious shake of heads.

“You’re not? Well…” You smile, and it’s the type of smile that makes a flurry of star-stuck cameras go off. Basking in it, you walk oh-so-closely to the edge of the stage, where hands reach out to merely be in your presence. “That’s cute. But I still think I should arrest someone for being so naughty tonight, getting you all worked up.”

Crowds wave, volunteering themselves up to you.

You reach for your glittering belt and pull out the fluffy pink handcuffs that make them squeal, “And how aboooooout…”

Scanning the stadium.

Looking around.

Your eyes pass over the roaring head until—

“Ah! You there.” You’re pointing, your eye catching on a fluffy head of white hair. A face so handsome. So eager. “How about you? Would you like to be my arrestee tonight—?”

His deep voice sounds out, “Y-yes! Yes please-”

And as you near, the crowd grows even more restless. Like a tumultuous sea, the waves crash into each other, creating a rough tide that almost wanted to pull you in-

You blink.

And suddenly that white-haired man has disappeared.

But you’re by the edge of the stage by now, and you could feel the palms reaching for you as you try to discern just where he might be. “I uh-” You pause. Before the crowd surges forwards, and you’re thinking quickly to point out someone else. “Perhaps he isn’t so eager to be thrown in the slammer tonight-” They laugh, “-so how about you? Brown-haired girl? Would you like to be arrested by me~?”

She nods, and you proceed with your lil’ skit to ‘arrest’ her for being much too naughty.

Teasing and twirling, before you stand up and get on with the rest of your concert-

“And now—who’s ready for an encore~?”

You prance away, leaving a trail of glitter and song- and tears. Fuck, Gojo only claws himself up from the ground just as you finished your little arresting routine. The roll of the crowd had knocked him to the ground, and Shoko looks at her sad lil’ best friend.

She raises the handcuffs on her wrists, “Help me get out of these and you can have them, Satoru-”

“No, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Gojo straightens himself up, and Shoko’s shocked to find that he shakes his head in rejection.

“Satoru, are you okay?” Geto asks, warily.

“Yeah-” He sighs. “Yeah, I’m okay.” Something hollow in his breath. Something hollow in his heart, as he watches you slip away.

One.

More.

Time.

It’s alright.

It’s alright.

@thestrongestfanboy: Siri play Chasing Pavements by Adele

@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: cringe

@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: but you good bro??

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy117: No bro 

@Fushidaddy117 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i feel you bro

@CupidOfficial: White hair. White stars…

That night, while Gojo had tossed and turned himself into a fitful sleep, his phone buzzed with yet another notification. 

One that he had to blink his eyes at to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, one that he had to pinch himself at to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

DIRECT MESSAGES for @thestrongestfanboy.

@CupidOfficial: You’re the white-haired boy from tonight, aren’t you?

@CupidOfficial: Sorry if this is forward of me, I’ve just seen you around quite a bit…on my timeline, at the fanmeet…

@CupidOfficial: I just wanted to ask whether you’d want to model for the cover of my upcoming album?

.

.

.

@pannchoa: Rumors swirl of Cupid’s upcoming album! Dispatch hints and industry whispers - read the full EXCLUSIVE from her producer right here.

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.

.

First thing’s first, you had Gojo Satoru sit on the couch of your penthouse accommodation. Talking through the details of your secretive upcoming album, and how the aesthetic you were going for fit his dazzling looks perfectly.

Second thing’s second, you had him seated on your king-sized bed. Still babbling about your album- at least, he was. Though the both of you knew that it was something else entirely on your minds.

Third thing’s third, he was sprawled out on said mattress. You straddlin’ his handsome face like a perch. His puffy, pinkish lips glued to your cunt—

“Mmpf- mmmm…” Gojo’s groaning over the most lecherous squelches that you’ve heard in your entire life. They’re echoing out like one of your sweetest songs, in sloppy staccato with the rovering movements of his tongue.

Gojo Satoru was eating you out like he was ravenous.

Famished.

Grabbing ahold of each side of your ass cheeks, he’s dragging you back down onto his gaping maw each n’ every time you flinched away with a whine, letting his tongue slash deeply into your drivelling orifice. “Mmm- hck!” Gojo’s so sloshed on your syrupy pussy that he’s finding himself hiccuping, eyes rolling all the way to the back of his head once your sap trickles out with a splash! Straight into the back of his throat, “Ohhhhh, my sweet girl-”

“Now now-” With a shiver, one of your hands slithers down to tug on Gojo’s clammy white locks. Almost as if to pull him away- but that only makes him nudge his lips closer to your hole with a keen. “Make sure you remember to- haaah, breathe, Gojo-”

“Sa-Satoru-” He whispers this out directly against your quivering cunt, and the vibrations make your back arch perfectly. Looking up at you through his pale lashes, fluttering. “Please call me, Satoru…”

Just the tip of his tongue that reels back out to fuck back in-

“-ma’am.”

“O-oh—” You’re moaning out at the way that his thick muscle pierces you - not only was Gojo an avid talker, but he had the tongue to back that up, too. So strong. So lengthy. He’s stirrin’ his tongue around and around in circular motions to graze those ridged tastebuds of his into each tiny nook n’ cranny. 

Pulling onto his sweaty bangs and that only seems to make him go even harder- “S’that what you want me to call you?” You’re managing out, looking down at him- and that seems to make him jolt at the sheer intensity. “You want me to call you…”

You teasingly trail off, and Gojo only seems to buck—his hips coming up to make your vast bed creek. Chin spankin’ against the edge of your cunt when he yearns even closer, “Yes? Yes?” 

“Oh? Was I supposed to- hck! finish something?” Pretending to not know exactly what he wanted, and it frankly made you even wetter to see the way that the tips of Gojo’s ears burn bright red at being caught.

“You know what I want baby- you know-” Sputtering out scorching hot breaths against your hole, before you know it- Gojo has one of his hands looped ‘round your thigh. The flat of his right thumb rubbin’ up and down your clit, “You kn-know what I want- and this pretty pussy does, too.”

Just the sultry sensation of him toying with your nub makes you gasp and buck. With your head thrown back, he’s taking every forceful bounce.

With such immense pleasure, Gojo’s letting his entire pretty face get ridden. The seeping hot core of your cunt plasters from the tip of his nose, down, down, down to grind your clit on the point of his chin. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

Timing your gyrations just right, Gojo purses his lips and he spits- “She’s just so wet, my light.” Creating a slippery puddle that lets him slither his tongue into you even faster, “Soooo fucking wet. Sooo fuh-fucking loud, might even be louder than you on stage- and she’s honest, too.”

You’re raising a brow in challenge, raising his blushing head from between your legs to simply ask. “And just wh-what is ‘she’ honest about?”

There’s another dangling line of saliva spat on top of your pussylips, and the edge of Gojo’s thumb presses each wad inside. You shiver - and so does your core. “She knows she loves me—she knows she wants to call me ‘Satoru’, doesn’t she?”

Oh.

You simply shiver- you don’t even have an answer, and Gojo doesn’t expect you to have one. With sensual movements, the plush part of his lower lip drag-drag-draaaaags down the front of your cunt.

He’s pulling his tongue back, just lightly tapping it on top of your shaky orifice—“Hey…” You’re grumbling out, when his teasing motions are lingering for just too long. You tug on his hair, and that seems to make him groan in ecstacy - the happiness of being used. “Don’t tell me you’re tapping out already?”

“Why? Does she miss me?” Gojo prattles away - not to you, but to your dripping wet cunt. Almost as if to prove his point, just the spit-covered edge of his tastebuds slither close to your hole. And it makes you clench—

Around nothing, because Gojo’s pulling away in an instant.

He never imagined how fun it would be to tease you.

His pretty, swollen lips turning up into a dirty grin. “Ohhh, don’t you worry, my light.” And the crown of his thumb rolls over your clit a few more times, “I already know that she misses the feeling of my tongue fucking ‘er-” And just as you wanted (because he could never leaving you longing for too long) Gojo’s tongue starts moving in, sinking. “Already know she wants to be f-filled up like no other could, already know every word to your songs- every lyric- every syllable. Already know you’re gonna feel my tongue between your legs- and you’re going to call me—”

You breathe, “Yes?”

And he’s almost pleading. “Your good boy?”

“Well…” You twist your fingers harshly into his silken white hair, and it makes Gojo moan. Slightly shoving him where you wanted him the most- “-then shut the fuck up n’ prove it to me, Satoru.”

And that’s all he wanted.

That’s all he needed. For now.

Until you’re calling him your ‘good boy’ exactly like that dark, carnal part of him wanted you to—Gojo’s grunting at the shock of his first name leaving your pretty lips, in that sing-song voice of yours. 

A sudden lurch that makes him shove his clammy head between your legs once more. He’s glued to the sheeny inner parts of your thighs, roughly gluing his mouth over your glazed pussylips.

“Oh- oh…” Heavy pants leave your mouth, and your chest heaves each time Gojo’s probin’ not only his prolonged tongue inside you- but also his slender fingers. “You’re really trying to prove it t’me-”

They were just so long. The curvaceous tips of his digits deliciously curving into your tenderest spots- he glides them perfectly along your walls. Fitting the ridges of his middle and ring fingers against your g-spot. 

Thoroughly. You could feel the way that Gojo was grinning against your cunt folds as he feels your cute walls clamp down ‘round his touch- “I found that spot, my light. It feels sooooo gooood having my fingers all up in there, hm? Can you feel me right there-”

“Y-yes-” Fuck, he was circlin’ the padded tips of his fingers and that made you fall upon the bed. You clap a hand down on that mahogany headboard of yours and use it to keep yourself moving- “Fuck, it feels so good.”

“Then don’t you think I deserve it…” He’s pouting, plush mouth now pulling back to clamp down your clit, too. And not only was he suckin’ on that nub, he was biting down, too. “M’your number one fan.”

“Mhm—fuh-fuck.” Your head falls back when he’s pressing his lips together and draaaaagging the fleshy top of your clit backwards. Just stretching. Just itching this carnal itch.

When you’re distracted by the white-hot pleasure that bursts behind your lids at the feeling, Gojo’s easily managing to sneak in yet another finger. A third one that pummels your bruising g-spot just as hard. “Can recite your every lyric. Every fanchant.” The hot crevice of his mouth moves rapidly against your core.

Furiously.

He’s drawing out a saucy pattern with his tongue, one that you’re only later realizing are the strokes to spelling out your stage name. 

C-U-P-I-D-C-U-P-I-D-C-U-P-I-D.

Gojo’s hot tastebuds salivate right down your front, pressing on your clit until you see sparks behind your eyes. “See- see?” There’s an almost crazed look in Gojo’s peripherals, rolling until they were almost nothing but pure white as you clench down on him roughly - and you start to wonder just what you have released. “See, m’your biggest fan- hck! M’your good boy, and this pretty pussy knows it.” He almost sounds pathetic begging between your legs, drooling, drunken. “And- and that’s not all-”

“Satoru, what do you mean that’s not…” Your sentence slowly dissolves in your throat, and with every push of his slimy tongue, you’re realizing just what he’s talking about.

Because instead of the curving ‘C’ that meant he was spelling out your stage name, Gojo was slashing something out. Long, hard lines that edged you closer towards your bliss—

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

“Mmm, you really are my biggest fuh-fan.” You’re somehow managing out, and the only thing you can do right now is grab ahold of Gojo’s hair and let him lavish you with his mouth. “You really love me, Toru?” And you feel him jolt at that cute nickname- “Or do you love my pussy?”

“Both. Both.” Fingers spearheading you so fast at this point that the skin ‘round his mountainous knuckles turns red. Stinging red. Needy red. Just like the strawberry shade of his overworked lips- 

Plap! after plap! 

And you’re not sure if the sounds are from the way you’re riding his handsome face, or the impact of him banging his fingertips into your deepest insides. “Both both both- fuck, I wanna have you drippin’ down my tongue for forever, my light. Could have you squeezin’ around me like this for ages, mmm, m’fucking obsessed.”

“A reference to my- haaah, to my album?” You question, and you were just so close. You were just so rapidly nudging yourself closer on top of him like this- “But what if you can’t breathe, Toru?”

“I don’t need to-” To which Gojo only grips the side of your ass with his free hand, tugging you down. Jolting you atop him. Manhandling you down further. He scrapes his swabbing fingers even further down your walls, past the spot of your bundle of nerves. “I don’t need to at all. Hah- I don’t need to breathe if I can have you like th-this…”

Your mouth dries of a response, because just then, he’s changing up the pattern of his sizzlin’ tastebuds again. 

Long, luscious strokes.

M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O.

Your eyes snap wide open, and you’re gasping at the realization of what exactly he was spelling out. “O-oh…” Chin slathering with a waterfall of your spittle, you’re just holding onto him for dear life at his vulgar kisses. “Satoru, I think m’gonna c-cum—”

And you’ve had voice training before, you’ve been used to keeping your voice steady even in the most pressurized of environments- but just then, your tone cracks as you heave your sultry body forwards and cum.

Hot, glistening waves of bliss.

A heat that takes over your body, from your scalp to your toes.

Again and again.

Slight tears prick behind your eyelids as you let Gojo fuck you through your high with his tongue, “Fuck- fuck, you made me cum-” Somehow pinpointing each peak of your orgasm to stick his fingers in for. Thud, thud, thud. “-and I didn’t even expect it.”

“Mmmm—” And you don’t know who was more gone on the fact that you were cumming like this, you or him. Because Gojo was lappin’ away with his thick tongue, slurping. “Tastes so sweet, my light. S’like sugar on my tongue…”

“Oh, you really are pussydrunk.” You whisper, and let his face move back and forth to elongate your euphoria. “Keep going, Toru—h-hah, keep going.”

“Anything for you, ma’am.”

How he loved the way you soaked yourself just a lil’ wetter at the sound of him saying that particular title. How he loved the way you’d flinch and tremble on top of him when he licked you from the tip of your clit and down to the end of your cunt. How he loved the way your high bated to nothing but mere tingles, and you shivered sensitively when he still kept going.

“My orgasm’s over now, Toru—” You hiccup, your tears starting to spill. “You were such a…good boy.”

And that’s when Gojo jolts, his entire body running with a shockwave that made itself obvious even to you. Curiously, you’re peering behind him- before he’s drawing your attention back to the front with a few more plunging pushes of his tongue. “Mmmm, m’your good boy. Your good boy- your good boy.”

G-O-O-D-B-O-Y.

“Mhm—” And when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to wrench himself away anytime soon, you’re bawling. “Fuck- fuck, Satoru m’so sensitive.”

“M’sorry, my light, I just can’t seem to-” Somehow managing to pant through his thorough pushes, it was honestly a wonder that he could even find the time to breathe at this point- with the way he was glued to your puckered pussy. Mouthing out what felt like the most popular lyrics to your songs at this point- “-can’t even seem to stop. It’s like I’m…almost like I’m-”

You flinch when he spits once more, the wad oozing down your slit.

“-addicted.”

You take a goood, long look at Gojo: puffy eyes, bleary vision, his mouth all puffy and raw around your cunt. Nearly every inch of his face was covered in a sappy layer of your slick, and it dripped down to drench your pillow beneath. Like a puddle. 

Your cup your hand down from his hair n’ to his cheek, and Gojo practically melts at the touch. You had the distinct thought that if he were a cat, he’d be purring. “But Toru-” Jutting your bottom lip out for emphasis, “I want to give you the same, you know what I mean? S’that alright.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you could step on me and I’d thank you.” He says, before wrenching off of your swollen pussylips with a wettened plop!

A loud, dramatic mwah!

It makes your heart race, and something in Gojo’s tightened trousers twitch. Eagerly, you’re shuffling yourself off of him and sitting on one end of the bed.

Earlier, Gojo had simply ripped off your skirt and panties off- and his flooded mouth drops further with every item of clothing you’re taking off. Until you were completely exposed, and you’re directing him with a finger to do the very same.

“Yes, ma’am-” There’s absolutely no hesitation before his t-shirt (with, tastefully, your face on it as part of your merchandise) comes off. And you’re absolutely shocked- because Gojo wasn’t the trim, lanky figure that you’d expected him to be.

Instead, he was built.

Well-chiselled pecs that made you ache to touch them, leading down with a deep valley to the muscles of his washboard abs. Almost like a ladder. They were decorated only with a few beauty spots, and a line of sparse white hair that led down, down, down.

Gojo’s beefy biceps flex as he then tugs down on the hemline of his pants and boxers, revealing—oh.

He flushes at the intensity of your stare, “Wh-what?” Almost squirming, he just felt so shy by the way his idol was looking at him like you just wanted to tear him apart. Sensually. “Is something not-”

“You’re just so big, Satoru.” You gasp, your eyes never straying from him. 

Naturally, your hand reaches out to grab the ninth of his loooong inches, thick and hot in your hold. Glistening with need. His tight balls clenching. He was so hard that every pulsation was visible even from here.

A few veins decorated his shaft, and he was so reddened at the tip, n’ dripped down a stream of milky precum just at the feeling of your palm on him.

Slowly - ever-so-slowly - you start to lower your head…

“Oh.” Gojo pants out a scalding breath. “And that is…good?”

“It’s perfect.”

Gojo’s watching you through partly-cracked eyelids, feeling so hypnotized by the sight of you below him. He raises himself slightly on his haunches with a hiss, the hot air from your mouth kissin’ his tip—it almost- it almost reminded him of the way you’d lean in so close with your microphone.

Lips so soft.

Tongue so talented.

Just gently pressing—

And that’s when Gojo chokes back a needy cry and cums- straight down the front of your pretty, pretty face. In a split-second, you have your tongue filthily dangling out to catch the wads of seed that he was pouring out. 

Splat after splat that ended up emptying on your tastebuds.

He’s bucking to let his shaft glissade just further down your tongue- and the mere plush feeling of him only makes his geysering divot spill out more generously. 

“Fuck-” Gojo scrunches his azure eyes, head fighting not to throw back and miss a second of the sinful sight below. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- I can’t believe I’m…this is all your fault, sweetheart, ngh.” And his abs flex as he starts up a lil’ half-rut to fuck himself through his wave of bliss. 

“Mmm—” You’re savoring the salted caramel taste of him, something so sweet about him. Amused, you raise a brow. “I barely even put my mouth on you, and you’re cumming already?”

He’s raising his hands to his blushing face, peeking out through his fingers. “Actually…it’s the second time tonight m’cumming, my light.” As you raise your brows in slight surprise, and flick your eyes to the drenched mess of his boxers. “The haaaah—the first time was when you- you called me your ‘good boy’.”

“Oh.”

Cumming just from eating you out? Now that really made your cunt throb with torturous need, and you’re sliding a hand between your legs to feel for the wetness there.

“Well, then-” A beautiful grin graces your face, and it’s enough to make Gojo’s swollen cock twitch. “-guess you have one more to make up t’me if you’re such a, mm, good boy, huh?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

Before you know it, you’re being splayed out with your back against the bed. The mattress slightly dips as Gojo hovers his muscular weight above you, and he’s gently pushin’ apart your legs, sweat beading on his forehead as he takes in your dripping wet core.

You swear you catch his mouth watering at the sight- “No need to be nervous, Toru. Have you ever done this before?”

He shakes his head, “No, it- it was actually my first time eating you out, too.” Peering up at you with teary eyes, “Did I do good?”

Did he do good?

If that was his first time, you didn’t know what would happen with his second, his third, his tenth. And you’re snapping yourself forcefully out of that little reverie, “Yes- fuck, yes you did so good. Was such a good boy for me.” He grunts, something ruined in it. “Now I need you to be a good boy f’me again, okay? C’mon- put my legs on your shoulder—yeeeees, just like that.”

His muscles shifted underneath your heels, he was just so hulking.

“Now bend, Toru-”

“Bend?”

“Bend.”

And Gojo wanted to prove himself to you, just like before. He wanted to do his very best for you, you, you and only you - even if that meant…manhandling his one and only idol, just a little.

With a primal lurch, Gojo then has your knees pushed all the way up to your tits. “Like this?” Your body bent completely in half, like a lawn chair. “Like this?” And his hips slotting between your legs- in this mean mating press, Gojo’s furious cock stuffs juuuuuust inside- “Like- like-”

Before he’s slouching his head forwards and pushing—

“Fuck-” Gojo’s canines try to sink into his lower lip, before he’s realizing that that won’t hold back his gruff noises and he’s simply keening. Carnal. Baritone. 

A thin line of drool starts to splash from the side of his maw, before his entire body bows inwards to yours. Like he was focusing each n’ every ounce of strength into pryin’ aside your swollen folds and squeeeeezing his round, girthy tip inside. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck- fuck!” And then you clench and you can hear the exact moment that the sensation pangs through Gojo’s body, “I think m’gonna cum again- fuck, m’gonna cum again just from this.”

“If you do then I want it allll inside-” You say, looking up into his attractive face - so unintentionally sexy. Gojo was flushing. Rabidly slobbering. His dick aching.

He was so hard that you could feel the prominent outline of each vein, scraping your insides as Gojo tries to push past the slight resistance of your entrance and buck and buck- “Don’t- oh.” He could barely even echo out a coherent thought with your wet pussy wrapped ‘round him like this. “Don’t- fuckin’- talk like that- s’only gonna make it, ngh, worse.”

“But I thought you were my good boy?”

“Fuh-fuck.” Gojo hollows out, with a clouded breath that made it seem as though every ounce of sanity was leaving his body along with it. And at that very second, you feel him spurt out just a single pearly white bead of cum.

It splats! down at the back of your pussy, and makes you shiver at the feeling. Meanwhile, Gojo’s forced to lurch up one of his fists and gnaw down on it to control himself. “Fuck, you don’t know what you’re doing t’me.” The blood vessels at his neck and temples pop as he somehow stops his dribbling cock from flooding your insides any further. “Didn’t know how fuck- fucking mean ya are, my light.”

“What can I say?” You hum, your hamstrings all sore with the intrusion that was being lodged in your lower half. “You were the criminal that got away- ngh, at my concert.”

“Mhm—?” Still rutting. Just animalistic half-ruts.

“And I want you to fuck me filthily, Toru.”

Oh…at this confession of yours, he grows even bigger inside of your tight channel. The girth of Gojo’s cock swells up, and his sheer length pushes apart your walls, molding them to him-

“Oh- oh my…” There was still a light sheen of your slick on Gojo’s face that he hadn’t been able to greedily lap away, and it’s then - mid-sentence - that you choose to lean yourself closer to him and get a taste. 

To which Gojo’s hazed blue eyes snap open- and oh, the look in them makes your legs tighten. Makes them fail- he’s snapping them open in a singular fluid motion, uncaring of the way it exhausts your muscles. Uncaring of the snug stretch-stretch-streeeeetch of your cunt once he’s mazing himself inside. “-my light.” Gojo bites out, “I’ll give you anything you need…”

Just then, your ears ring with a sharp clap!

You’re wondering whether it’s your ears.

You’re wondering whether it’s your heartbeat.

You’re left wondering no longer when you register it’s the slamming impact of Gojo’s toned v-line snapping against your lower half. Bottoming out in one motion, he’s deeply probin’ his rotund tip into the back of your treacly pussy.

Bottoming out? Already? 

“And that includes fucking you like the slut you want to be fucked as.”

Oh.

Oh. 

It seems that perhaps you’ve broken him.

Because then Gojo’s pounding his rough, ravenous hips into you all the way until his white happy trail scrapes your clit, and the end of his shaft reaches for the back of your throat. 

“What the fuck…” He stops as he feels the tender end of your pussy - teary eyes widening. And the first thing out of his mouth is, “Is this real?” In utter, feral disbelief. “There’s no way this is…” Before Gojo’s pinching himself.

He bottoms out a few more times, and each time the look in his eyes grows more distant. Jaw dropping further and further with the pure ecstacy of having his painfully-hard erection surrounded by your soft warmth. “Are you- hck! are you holding up, Toru?”

“Holding up? Holding up?” He almost cackles- octaves higher, almost crazed. He turns to you, “Pinch me.” 

“What-”

“Pinch me.”

And so you do - right on the strawberry nubs of his nipples, where he was just so sensitive. Only when the painfully lewd sensation confirms it’s real does he start formulating his sloppy cadence, “Fuck! It doesn’t fucking feel r-real. It can feel like this, sweetheart?” He was rutting his hips impatiently into you like he was trying to fuck the answer out of you. Each n’ every loooong, winding vein glissading down your walls. “N-ngh, she feels like heaven ‘round my cock.”

“Oh yeah—?” Purposefully, you clench. “Like that, Satoru?”

He simply shivers, “Y-yes.” You can feel him thumpin’ away at the goopy back of your pussy, with his circular divot creaming out in pre. “She’s sucking up every inch of me- fuck, huggin’ me so tight. Bet she can feel my veins reeeeeal good, can’t she?” A few slurps as he sloppy fucks his way in, which he takes as an answer. “Mhm, she can.”

And you only clench harder-

“Oh.” He whimpers, “Have mercy.”

“I dunno…” You drag out from the back of your throat, and you have to curl your toes to stop the pleasure from overflowing and interrupting your sentences. “You didn’t have mercy when you ate me out earlier, did you?”

Gojo gasps-

“And when you screamed at my concert, and when you disrupted my fanmeet.” You’re quite enjoying watching him fall apart - head hung, hips stuttering as he struggles to hold himself back. You wonder just what might happen if you made this handsome virgin Gojo…break. “So why should I show you- ngh, mercy?”

“Please- oh, what are you—”

Whatever Gojo was going to say is immediately derailed by the casual way you’re hiking up a hand to your stomach. Pressing dooooown just as his throbbing length was sinking in, “Filthier, Toru.”

And that’s when something in your favorite fanboy - in Gojo Satoru - snaps.

That’s when your positions shift.

His sap dribbles down n’ overflows just like the way your steaming tastebuds do, and your teeth clench after every one of his thrusts. Harder. Faster. Just like you’d said, he was thwacking his aching hot cock into you so hard that the curve of his ballsack was swatting your cunt. Slowly, you’re growing more and more hypnotized by his roverin’ dick stuffing every ounce inside you full. “Just like that- hah-” Arms wobbling, you struggle to reach ‘round Gojo’s shoulders. “Oh- just like that-”

“Just like that?” He asks, oh-so-kindly. And you almost feel a glimmer of hope for your poor body when Gojo gently tugs your arms around his shoulders. Letting you grab onto his deltoids-

“But I don’t think s’filthy enough, my light.”

Oh…so you were mistaken.

“Filthier, you said?” He repeats your words from earlier, fully channeling his energy to swabbin’ every point of your cunt. Gojo feels your legs slipping, and he’s reaching a hand behind his neck to pin your ankles together - locking them in place. “Look-” Other hand thumbing between your puffy pussylips, “Look, she wants it harder- faster, too. She’s practically flooding out and begging for it.”

“Oh my god-” Your pillow is drenched in a layer of your spittle by now, and your back arches. “Keep- keep going.”

“Keep going? But I wanna go even filthier, sweetheart.” That familiar pout of his makes an appearance, though there was something much more…sleazy about it this time.

Your nails dig into the plush mountains of his muscles, shifting underneath your touch each time he’s reeling his body back. Back, back, back. Gojo was putting his entire frame to work - not just his hips - each time he’s shovelling his cock into you. 

And the extra pressure makes the rounded crown of his shaft embed deep into your cervix, leaving a bruise there that acts as the perfect target for the next slam. And the next. And the next. “Please-” You’re gasping out, sobs bubbling in your throat. “Please please please- please, and how are you gonna be even filthier?”

“Like this.” Just to prove his point, his free hand tilts open your chin and spits straight in your mouth. And without wasting a second longer, Gojo spanks that very hand back down on your hips to keep you from running. “Aaaand—”

Instead, he’s using his strength to pliably jerk you back down. Hissing between your parted lips, “Like this.” He’s bubbling up even more saliva- this time, down your slippery slit. That hand of his on your hip reaches over, and with the forefront curve of his thumb, Gojo’s smearin’ the wad of saliva on top of your pussy. Pressing down on your clit- “Because m’just your pathetic fanboy, my light, listening to- ngh, every word you say. So when you say filthy, m’only gonna go filthier.”

You almost don’t want to dare to ask, “And h-how will you make this…even filthier?”

But you knew he wanted you to.

You knew he was just dying to fuck the words out of you.

Gojo’s plastering a sleazy smirk across his face, and it damn near looks downright blasphemous with the layer of syrup on his features. “I h-have an idea or two…”

He’s not telling you what the idea is, he’s showing it to you - with his fingers twisting on top of your clit to spell out some of the very words he’d spelled out with his tongue earlier.

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U-I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

Furiously, your body thrashes at the mercy of his clutches. Gojo was holding you down ruthlessly, a mean expression taking over his face when he finds out that he can simply pin you down and make that glistening hole of yours take it.

M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O-M-R-S-G-O-J-O.

All those zaps of pleasure that you loved so much, that you were moaning so much at. You’re so cockdrunken by this point that spittle sloshes ‘round inside your mouth- and Gojo only leans over to lick off the drivels of it escaping your mouth.

<3

Just in time to crash his lips into your when you cum.

“C-cumming.” You’re gasping out, almost in disbelief at the sheer strength of the orgasm that was flooding your entire body. Bucking back into his thrusts, “So much- it’s- it’s so much, fuck.”

“Yes-” Gojo growls, slightly breathless at the fact that this was you—and you were cumming ‘round his cock, suctioning every tender ridge on his shaft, fully fucking yourself through the complete waves of your high.

Bliss upon euphoria.

If you thought that your orgasm was incredible earlier, then you weren’t ready for this one. It simply takes over every part of you, until it felt like your nerves were fried with the sensation.

He stops pinning you down any longer, letting you bounce your hips back into his to your heart’s content. “That’s right, use me.” Gojo’s fingers are but a blur on your clit, “Use me to ride your high- fuck, use me as much as sh-she wants. Let me feel every inch of you squeezin’ around me-”

“I can’t be the only one.” Despite the pangs of your bliss, you somehow manage to blink away your tears to gaze up at him. With a hand fisted in Gojo’s perspired hair, you’re pulling him in reeeeal close, “Want you to cum insi- oh, fuck.”

You don’t even have to finish your sentence.

You don’t even have to finish your thought.

Because the moment that Gojo realizes what you’re trying to say to him, the bawling divot at the end of his shaft pours out white-hot cum. Heard throwing back. Chiselled body bowing into yours. Voice straining with a call of your name. 

It’s just the creamiest texture, it polishes a layer of white on your cervix and along your walls until the syrup froths outside.

Gasping, Gojo brushes his thumb between your folds and plugs up your leaking hole. Overspilling. So many webbed layers were seeping out of you, and he was taking the time to push every ounce of it back inside- “Fuck.” He whispers, thickly. “Fucking hell.”

“S’all inside, Satoru.” You mewl, gliding your hand up and down your front. “I can feel it splashin’ around inside-”

“Don’t say that- don’t- fucking say that-” He just barely chokes out- before one of Gojo’s hands lets go of your ankles to actually squeeze that pretty neck of yours, so perfect in his grip. “Don’t say that or m’gonna…”

“Or what?”

“Or m’gonna cum again-”

“Can feel it alllllll up inside.” You continue, despite the lecherous tightening at your throat. And Gojo has to listen on in pure agony as that voice he loves so much continues on—“Honestly- at this rate, you might just get me- ngh, pregnant, Toru.”

And that does it- he’s splurging out his dewy wet wads all over again. It seeps a layer of white into your glossy insides, making every thrust of his slippery.

With a slight whimper, he doesn’t waste time fucking those droplets of cum inside even if it aches him with sensitivity. The reddened tip of his cock twitches, and Gojo’s balls nuzzle the forefront of your cunt, already sucked dry with nothing more to give-

“You kn-know-” When Gojo speaks, it almost sounds like he’s crying- oh. Something hot and wet drips from his eyes, he actually was crying in overstimulation.

The texture of your cunt leaving him red n’ raw, but even then he’s way too addicted to try and bring himself to stop. Moaning, “-I did say something about you st-stepping on me, my light.”

Your brows raise.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

.

.

.

It’s almost a year later when Gojo posts:

@thestrongestfanboy: Siri play I Just Had Sex by The Lonely Island.

@Fushidaddy1008 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: lmfao as if anyone would bang you

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy1008: Ahhh, my wife would bang me~! ＼(≧▽≦)／ Also blocked (*≧ω≦*)

@Fushidaddy1009 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: wife?? lmfao i thought Cupid was your wife?? youre saying you banged Cupid??

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @Fushidaddy1009: Exactly~! Blocked (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

@thestrongestfanboy: I would let her step on me (and HAVEEEEE) <(￣︶￣)>

@thestrongestfanboy: Does anyone have that meme of the guy shooting a basketball from the moon and actually making the basket???

@thestrongestfanboy: I’M IN LOVE.

@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Bro do you gen need your meds or…

@Shokomedical replying to @DigiGeto: I’ve prescribed all he needs, idk how but it’s gotten worse since that concert last year.

@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Happy for you Gojo-senpai ^.^

@thestrongestfanboy: MY BEAUTIFUL WIIIIIIFE~! ٩(♡ε♡)۶

And then came the disaster, perhaps. Because he’d meant to attach a completely innocent picture of you from your last show, he’d meant to post something that would have been inconspicuous with everything else that your fansites were posting.

But this is Gojo - and that’s obviously not what happened.

Attached to that aforementioned tweet was a picture of none other than Gojo Satou and you. Not from a concert. Not from afar. In the flesh, in nothing but a soft blanket covering your most intimate parts, clearly bitten all over and sex-hazed.

You were raising a digital camera up, your smile peaking through its edge as if you were taking a picture of a picture. And Gojo himself was in the corner - bitten, marked, a dopey smile and just as ruined, as sex-rumpled as you were, shirtless.

The first night.

How damning.

In the split-second that the photo had been up, it spread across stan Twitter like wildfire. And all of Gojo’s subsequent tweets had upwards of 1M+ views just because of it.

@thestrongestfanboy: WAIT

@thestrongestfanboy: WAIT DIVA DOWN DIVA DOWN

@thestrongestfanboy: I DIDN’T MEAN TO POST THAT PLEASE FORGET ABOUT IT.

@pinkillit replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Bro actually….did it? The fanboy actually did what every delulu stan hopes to do??

@gggggnarly replying to @thestrongestfanboy: YOU HOOKED UP WITH QUEEN CUPID?!

@hearts2hurts replying to @thestrongestfanboy: I fear I, again, can’t send hate because this is impressive ngl.

@utahimeslefttoe replying to @thestrongestfanboy: i know this is a marketing stunt i just cant prove it (uta give me a chance pls)

@lovelicky replying to @thestrongestfanboy: PARASOCIALISM WORKED??

@yuuthebaddie replying to @thestrongestfanboy: YOU GOT THE HUZZ??

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @yuuthebaddie: I GOT THE HUZZ!! („ಡωಡ„)

@thestrongestfanboy replying to @thestrongestfanboy: WAIT DELETE-

@DigiGeto replying to @thestrongestfanboy: Satoru what the fuck

@Shokomedical replying to @thestrongestfanboy: SATORU WHAT THE FUCK

@HiByeRawr replying to @thestrongestfanboy: I always knew the day would come!! Congratulations, Gojo-senpai ^.^

@urmomstype replying to @thestrongestfanboy: What did I miss?? Do I need to make a new thread??

@Fushidaddy2067 replying to @thestrongestfanboy: thats it siri play chasing pavements.

And that’s when it spreads outside of your fandom, first to the celebrity news outlets, and then everyone else. Soon enough, BuzzFeed, TMZ, Pannchoa were all tripping over themselves to be the first to report and interview on the subject. Personally, you knew that Dispatch was foaming at the mouth to drop the annual bombshell with all the sordid details.

TRENDING ON TWITTER:

#CUPIDPICTURE

#CUPIDDATING

#THESTRONGESTFANBOY

#DELULUISTHETRULULU

#HEGOTTHEHUZZ??

#LFORFUSHIDADDY

@CupidManagement: As a company, we do not interfere in the private lives of our artists and we kindly ask everyone to stop spreading any malicious rumors. We wish all the best to Cupid, and her relationship going forward.

And you?

@CupidOfficial: Ahhh might be as great a time as ever to announce that my new album, Stargirl, will be out on all platforms November 28th!! Here’s the cover art, hope you love it (and a special thank you to the special boy that made it happen) <33

On the cover, a picture of Gojo.

Not as you’d seen him in the bedroom, of course. It’d been exciting work to get to the studio, to don him in the most ethereal flowy whites, to place him in the midst of a blank background and stud his hair with roses, to bathe him in a dreamy light. It was almost hazy. In the picture, his face was turned away but he was staring into the camera- and…perhaps past it.

Right where you’d been, directing him.

With such a loving glimmering in his eyes that it made one almost shy to directly at it.

Your vision had some to life.

It quickly racks up a comfortable million plus views on Twitter, and you quietly shut off your phone as the notifications keep beeping. Instead, snuggling up to Gojo right back in your penthouse, right beside you (not before you give him a lecture on double-checking the pictures he posts, of course.)

And there was only one left wondering…

[email protected]: (RE: All of…this)

Hello,

What the fuck.

Regards.

A/N. Disclaimer not to be like him irl but like for him?? Anything.

"what? didn't miss me?" he laughs, watching as you step closer to the hospital bed he's currently sitting on.

there was a slight grimace on your face when you entered, one that quickly turned into a small placating smile.

but the smile does not alleviate the headache building at the back of your head. "not really, hard to miss when you're here nearly everyday." you sigh, moving forward to take a good luck at his injuries.

he winces when your gloved fingers touch the torn fabric, muscles twitching under his white shirt.

varka bites the inside of his cheek, trying not to groan from the pain.

"it's not too bad," you assess the damage, mind quickly conjuring ways to mend his injuries. it was a clean hit, and the tip barely went past the muscle tissue. "a few stitches and you'll be good as new. . . "

"only a few?" varka theatrically sighs, face inching closer to yours, "i was hoping to spend a little more time with the cathedral's best healer."

his face is unbelievably close now, nose nearly touching yours.

you find yourself drawn into the glacier-blue of his eyes, caught in their overwhelming brilliance — only to pull back just as quickly when you realize how little space remains between you.

they remind you of a cloudless sky.

with a slight flush on your cheeks, you turn your back to him, pretending that he hasn't gotten under your skin.

it's hard not to get affected, especially when it's varka — the infamous troublemaker of the knights, well-known menace of wolvendom, and grandmaster valentine's headache.

an a-list celebrity is at your clinic bed,

though it's more like a-list criminal.

"please maintain distance, sir knight." you say, keeping your voice steady as possible.

varka chuckles, "as you wish, miss healer."

his eyes follow you as you move around the small clinic, opening cupboards and gathering your tools.

he can’t help but wonder if you realize how lovely you look — how easy you make everything seem.

and more than that, he wonders if you’ll ever look at him and see more than just a patient.

you've always been so serious and professional with him, no matter how much he tries to tease your poor heart. it always ends with you forcefully throwing him out and him backing away with a sheepish grin.

occasionally, though, you slip up and show just how worried you are; there was a time he came in with several broken bones, and you had almost cried.

varka felt his heart ache seeing you like that.

your eyes were puffy and red-rimmed, lips formed to a frown while you bandaged him up. you didn't talk to him for a whole week, and during check-ups you barely showed any reaction to his usual jokes.

it was basically hell being stuck in a bed while other nuns took turns taking care of him.

varka vowed right then and there to never get that reckless again. not only did it hurt like hell but he also nearly withered without your attention.

"tell me, was it a hilichurl again?" you ask, pulling the wooden strolley with your tools towards him.

varka hums, looking up to the side as if thinking, "well. . . what if i told you it was a person this time?"

it wouldn't be surprising if it was. he had been forced to train young aspiring knights to sharpen his 'leadership skills' and if you remembered correctly, most of them were archers.

really bad ones.

"hang in there, you can go on as many adventures as you'd like after this." you let out a small laugh, watching his nose scrunch. a cute sight.

valentine had promised him, after all.

'go out and explore, young man.

a free wind like you shouldn't be tied to one nation only,

experience and learn as much as you can from the outside,

only then will you understand what it means to be a knight."

that was what the old man said, with that wide and warm grin of his. varka never really understood valentine's order, even now as he looks at you.

especially now that he looks at you.

"hey, miss healer," he speaks up, voice hesitant.

you continue to bandage his wound, not caring to look at him. it's probably another one of his awful pick-up lines, he always had something to talk about whenever he's with you. the boy acts as if no-one has talked to him in years sometimes.

"i'll be going away soon, y'know? like really far, and likely for a long time too." he starts, feeling his palms sweat, which he tries to hide by clutching the fabric of his trousers.

he continues after a moment, "i'll be gone next week, probably."

varka truly does not understand.

"it would be nice if we, uh—" he clears his throat, "hung out more. . . ? 'cause we never really do anything outside of you patching me up, well, not that i'm complaining of course—"

you try to stifle a laugh, watching him fumble with his words. never the type to be subtle, varka always marches forward, says whatever the hell he wants, then gets awkward when the consequences bite him in the ass.

"what use would that be?"

your question stuns him, brows furrowed down to a dismayed look. the brightness of his eyes slowly dims, making for a pathetic scene.

he bites his lip as he looks down, staring at the floor.

you decide not to beat him up too much, lest he actually starts crying in your clinic.

"i was merely jesting," you pat his uninjured shoulder.

he stays silent for a bit before letting out a small exhale.

"maybe you should leave the jokes to me, you suck at them."

"it was that bad, huh. . . "

"really bad, miss. downright awful, i'd say."

the two of you meet each other’s gaze, something mischievous flickering in both of your eyes —

before bursting into a cacophany of laughter, sound mixing into one.

your voice is one of varka's most treasured sounds, aside from the hymns and ballads of his homeland. he adores every small quip and whisper, revels in the way it feels like silk gliding through his ears.

which is why varka can't help but question valentine's words.

mondstadt has always been his home, it's not something varka can and ever will deny. the land contains everything he's ever loved, everything he will love, and most importantly —

it has you.

mondstadt has everything he could ever want and more. his dreams may be lofty and absurd but in the end, all of them take place in the land of anemo where freedom reigns true.

he could achieve all the glory and fame here, at home, where you and his family reside.

"you don't have to worry too much," you murmur, sitting beside him, "trust in the grandmaster's advice and do as he says."

varka simpers, "hah, that old coot never had anything good to say. he's probably trying to drive me away so i don't destroy the walls during training again. . . "

the young knight unceremoniously drops onto the bed, perching his head under his arms as he does. he's always been quick to forget the pain of his injuries, and not once did the discomfort show on his face.

"how surprising," you mumble, leaning on your palms as you look at him, "i thought you'd be more excited for this, you were always so hungry for adventure."

"he should just knight me already instead of makin' me run around places like a fool." he sighs, looking mournfully at the ceiling, "the whole thing feels like a carrot on a stick."

he glances at your curious eyes, and doubts himself even further, "maybe stayin' here ain't too bad."

your gaze hardens.

"absolutely not, sir knight."

"huh?"

varka looks at you with confusion, suddenly sitting up so he's face-to-face with your determined expression.

"you have to follow the grandmaster's words," you insist, pointing at him, "i'm serious, varka."

he immediately groans.

"you're saying the same thing frederica's been preaching," he scratches the back of his head in frustration, "follow his words this, follow his words that. . . !"

to be honest, you don't know much about knighthood and oaths. you certainly aren't a knight yourself, but you do know this: the young boy before you is a lost soul, a free soul but lost nonetheless.

varka, although seemingly driven, has never known where to put that endless ambition and unyielding will. undoubtedly, he has them, but never used it for anything other than reckless fighting.

after all, when given too much freedom, a bird can lose its purpose and forget how to truly fly.

you do not wish for varka to be a flightless bird.

and grandmaster valentine had talked with you beforehand to push varka further. seems even he knew about the young knight's hopeless pining over the cathedral's medic, you can't help but feel a little embarrassed.

"varka, why did you want to become a knight?"

it takes a while before he answers, and even when he does finally think of one, it comes out as unsure:

"i guess, hm, to gain fame? prove others wrong? and make my parents proud?"

"are you asking me or telling me?"

varka doesn't know how to answer that, so he stays quiet. though not for long before he opens his big mouth again, likely to say something stupid.

"at least go out with me before i leave."

stupid indeed.

you giggle at his defeated frame, "sure, sure, i owe you at least that much."

"when i finish this journey, will you still be here?"

so that's what he was worried about, it's almost childish to think about. but you suppose it's just like him to worry over nonsense.

did he think you'll go running with some other man as soon as he's out of the gates?

he looks at you with a pleading gaze, so clearly besotted it almost hurts to see. you don’t think he realizes it either, and you’re not about to be the one to point it out.

it was probably the reason people immediately knew of his feelings for you, other than his ramblings and everyday visit to the cathedral's clinic.

"i'm more concerned you'll find someone more interesting in your journey, it's a big world after all." you tease, studying the way he tries to defend himself with large hand gestures, nervously muttering how no one could ever match your brilliance.

he's way too fun to mess around with.

"—also nothing could ever beat home! there's nothing better than the wine of mondstadt and the songs of the taverns—"

you feel your heart melt, watching as he talks about home with so much adoration. he may be impulsive and stubborn, but his love remains steadfast and true.

you wonder if he realizes how much of that warmth he carries into you, too.

it lingers in every word, every softened glance, every quiet pause where his voice dips just slightly — like he’s holding something unbelievably precious.

and in that moment, you understand —

to him, home isn’t just a place,

but something he carries with him wherever he goes.

you let all your small worries flutter in the wind — every little thought in your head of him abandoning home in search of something larger — was put to rest.

grandmaster valentine was right to favor this boy, so you'll push him in the righ direction. even if it pains you to see him go.

"fret not, dear knight. just as you won't forget mondstadt, you too will forever endure in my memories."

varka seems to have lost all the usual wit at your sudden proclamation, he feels himself bristle as heat rushes to his face in mere seconds. his mouth gapes open while you smile knowingly at him.

he already knows he's done for.

"you can't just say stuff like that— miss, it's bad for my heart!"

you laugh in his face, and it makes his heart nearly leap out of his chest as you do.

in the coming months, varka will find himself staring at the general direction of his homeland.

although he hasn't grasped the true meaning of knighthood yet, varka still finds himself itching to return.

it's true that he's seen many amazing things on his expedition, and he's realized just how small mondstadt is compared to the never-ending snowy plains of snezhnaya or towering rock formations of liyue.

and yet —

the image of warm taverns, of laughter spilling into the night, of hymns carried by the wind. . . they remain rooted deep within the caverns of his heart.

he finds himself missing it more than he thought he ever could.

missing you, most of all.

there are nights where doubt creeps in, quiet and suffocating. when he wonders if he’s made the wrong choice — if leaving was a mistake he cannot undo.

he thinks of the warriors he’s crossed blades with, their strength, their precision, their experience.

and for the first time in a long while, varka questions himself.

questions whether he is worthy of even holding a sword.

whether he is strong enough to return not as the man who left, but as someone greater.

still, even with doubt gnawing at him, his gaze always drifts back to the same direction.

to mondstadt.

because no matter how far he travels, no matter how much he learns —

his heart has never once left home.

.

.

.

he can only hope that when he finally makes his way back into your warmth, it will be 'my dear knight' this time.

#word-count ☆ 2.3k probabaly?????

#it's-your-captain-ari-speaking ☆ i know i keep posting varka and im so sorry hes just been in my head 24/7 i truly do feel embarassed. . . feels like im clogging the tags with my unending thoughts agh!! also please look at the art linked below, its sosososos9 good and the main reason i stopped everything i was doing to write this.

also i think varka is like the biggest mond lover ever, his whole character revolves around his home and it makes me feel so giddy. i love him.

Where does this take you? Right back to a game of eye-tag so doused in tension that it feels like a physical strike to your nerves.

Unknowing of how he'd recently fallen victim to your budding attractions, your mystery man sat particularly independent and detached from the room surrounding him. The only thing that seemed to pluck him out of his perpetual state of aloofness was the persistent way in which a gaze landed on him.

The gaze in question being yours, of course.

You simply couldn't help yourself, especially after he’d gone out of his way to buy you a drink.

Though, despite him being the picture perfect image of your type, you weren’t about to let this kindling flame crackle and then die out too quickly. No, you much preferred when mutual interest like this played out nice ‘n slow.

Which is exactly why you let your eyes glide down to the silently offered drink, lift a manicured nail to the glass’s rim, and then create a mild bit of distance by pushing it away.

The glass coolly slides across the bar far enough to be received as you declining the beverage, and your mystery man of interest catches it immediately. You look up again just to make sure he was watching you and you’re left with a little jump in your heart as his tired eyes mull elsewhere.

Fear threatened to take over at the momentary loss of his attention, but your worry was quickly soothed as he looked at you again. Lifting that half-drunken glass of his, he lightly tips it your way with an understanding nod of his head, obliging to your rejection.

Now, most would assume that this is where things end between you both. He offered you a drink and you politely declined it, how can tension possibly still exist there?

Simple—if you’re someone that’s of true interest to him, he won’t exactly stop there.

Which is precisely why it's of no surprise when he moves to stand up.

You'd been sipping on something you'd ordered roughly thirty minutes ago before Shoko left you to network the dance floor, trying your best not to make it obvious that every smidge of your attention was trained onto a man whose name you hadn't even gotten yet. But with the way he carries himself, it was almost impossible to do so.

The moment he stood up seemed to make your centered attention worse off. He was noticeably over six feet, a trait of which you recognize from across the room as you let yourself watch how he absentmindedly lifts a hand to make an unnecessary adjustment to his tie.

The way he walked around the bar had people turning heads and bartenders exchanging glances as if to imply he hadn't moved from his previous spot for a while up until now.

An exit is located not too far off behind you, so part of you figured your singular rejection is exactly the thing that'd drive him into retiring for the night. Was this your intent or goal? No, not at all.

But you liked the thrill of clinging on to the wildly false sense of hope that dwindled about inside you. The same sense of hope that sparked your intuition and made it less of a surprise to see your mystery man round the bar and relocate himself a mere two barstools away from you.

You watched through your peripherals how he fit himself into his seat—the length of his legs angling beneath the bar, and his charcoal-colored suit sleeking darker under the new angle of the establishment's dim lighting.

With him being closer to you, it was hard not to turn your head to get a better look at him and all that he had to offer you visually. Then again everything involving this man and your will to do things threads on a very, very thin line—as you'll come to find out.

Five minutes—not that you're counting or anything—roll by before anything noteworthy occurs.

Unfortunately, it's of your own actions that bring interest back into the slowly rolling interaction-, er, lack thereof...

You look back into the moderately distant clumps of people in search of Shoko, wondering just what has kept her so occupied this long. Eventually you spot her talking to a rather timid man with glasses, his gaze hardly meeting hers due to the intimidation she exuded via maintaining completely undivided attention on him.

The sight makes you smile as you set your drink down and you take this as the perfect opportunity to steal a quick glance at your fairly quiet mystery man. He'd bought you a drink, you declined it, then he came over, and since then... things have been placid. Unwelcomely so.

Has it been your turn to make another silent move all this time? Or were you both waiting for something to just happen out of the blue?

When you move your eyes to him, you feel your heart lurch in your chest.

The man is already looking at you—or, more specifically—at your legs. His eyes traveled slowly along your thighs based on how much you had revealed, making an intentionally steady descent to your calves and around the curve of them, before eventually falling onto your heels. At that final stop, his brows twitch.

He doesn't make a face or anything like that, rendering you unable to figure out what was going through his head, but he does blink ever so slowly before making eye contact with you.

...Almost as if he knew you were watching him check you out.

You start to open your mouth to say something of the quirky variety but he beats you to it.

"You declined my drink," Rumbles off the expanse of his tongue like he'd been holding the words there for longer than he meant to. The throaty base in his voice has you inattentively crossing one leg over the other.

Which, he notices, of course.

There was music playing softly throughout the room but from the moment he opened that dangerously calm mouth of his, every other sound seemed irrelevant to your ears.

Now that a conversation had finally presented itself, you had an excuse to take in every feature he had. His eyes are naturally wide in a way that should feel hollow or empty, yet does the exact opposite somehow. There's a richness lounging around in his irises, the outskirts of them indicating nights and nights lacking sleep, and the dull way in which he drags his gaze everywhere telling you that being tired is a trait he may have been born with.

All of which have you so utterly intrigued.

"I did," finally exits you, and for a split second his face dares to show emotion. An unspoken battle of attentiveness waged between you both, evident his mild reaction to hearing you for the first time. Someone could walk by and see or feel the tension already blooming between the two of you.

The man patiently waits for you to grant him with more of a response than that, eyeing how you move your hand towards the drink he purchased for you.

Your nail lightly taps against the rim and your shoulders rise to shrug, "Buying a woman a drink from across the room without even saying hello feels a bit lazy to me, sorry."

He doesn't smile at that but the corners of his mouth involuntarily move. A faint scoff leaves his nose, "I see." He murmurs, making it clear he wasn't exactly a man of many words. "Is that your type, then? A man who approaches you directly?"

Things had only just begun and the dynamic had you reeling in your seat already. Turning to face him a little more, "Depends," Your head tilts and you send him a grin, "Is that you?"

"Could be.” He offers suavely, “I've approached you, haven't I?"

You hum, tapping at that idle glass of rejection again before returning to your own cup, "Only after I've declined your drink."

He appears unimpressed by your response, eyes leaving your face and moving to your hand, "You didn't answer my question."

"I thought it rhetorical." You bite back.

His lips twitch again, "It wasn't."